


Lives, Loves and Predators

by thequietscribe



Series: Genteel Monsters [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anxiety Disorder, Bonding, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Will, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 114,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequietscribe/pseuds/thequietscribe
Summary: In a world where omegas are the top of the food chain, and alphas desperately try to win their favour, Will Graham struggles with what society and biology demand of him.  The elite gather at his family's estate for a Grand Ball, a place where alphas show off and try to find a mate, Will is forced into the fray as one of the most coveted and unmated omegas in the city, but can he keep his anxiety from causing untold harm?





	1. Cufflinks and Dance cards

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real step into fanfiction. Set in an alternate universe that is loosely based on Regency Britain. I have tried to keep the characters as close as possible to how they would act, but due to the changes from the tv series, and the circumstances in their lives and physiology there will obviously be some differences. The first part of the collection was a set of agony aunt letters that Will wrote for a newspaper, which should give more information on the general world this is set in.

Will stared into the long mirror, taking in how he looked. It was not an idle or narcissistic endeavour, but one to remind him of what others would see. 

The suit was much like the others he owned but had not tailored himself: a delight. The tailor had worked wonders to make him look tall, sophisticated and refined. The dark blue seemed to shimmer to black as he moved, the white shirt and light grey tie only highlighting the fact that his neck had no bonding marks, his hair trimmed to seem artfully casual to give the hint of what he might look like upon waking. It was a strong lure, he knew that. This was what they would see when he went down there into the rooms filled with people; an unmated omega of prominence and worth. 

That would be what they would see if they neglected to notice the slight trembling of his hands, one he could see, could feel himself as he tweaked the shirt cuffs into a slightly better position. That would be what they would see if they didn't seek his scent too deeply past the smears of ointment he had rubbed over his glands and the oil he had added to his bathwater. So long as they only saw what he wanted them to, they wouldn't find themselves pressing closer, trying to touch in order to reassure. 

Stop. Just stop. 

He focused on his hands, trying to get them to stop the shaking. He had to do this. Jack wouldn't let him sit out this time, not when he would need to find another alpha for his next heat. He could do this. He wouldn't be left unguarded by the alphas in the family, and they knew how to deal with his... quirks. So long as he didn't freak out at something, it would be fine. Unpleasant, but fine. 

It wasn't like these balls were an uncommon affair. The omegas of high society held them frequently, a place to mingle, a place for alphas to show off and for both to find entertainment and mates. 

Staring at the slender white of the cuff that was showing against the suit jacket, he could admit to himself that he wanted to find a mate. Indeed, perhaps now was the best sort of time to remind himself of this, just before he would have to leave the soft quiet of his rooms into the loud chaos of the Ball. He did. He wanted a mate. He just didn’t think he would find one that suited him. 

There was a sharp rap on the door, before it was opened to reveal two of Alana's alphas. His mother had seven, which was bordering on high in number. Jack was not one of them here, for he would never leave her side tonight, but the fact that Zeller was one of the two who was here to be his escort for the night told him well enough that Jack was taking no chances of him 'getting lost' on the way to the ballroom. They both knew he would much rather spend his night in his rooms, or with the dogs. 

Picking up the wire-rimmed spectacles from the side table, he put them on, regarding himself again, trying to force that image into reality, before turning and making his way out the door. Neither of the alphas moved to touch him. They knew better. 

Moving along the corridors past the other family rooms, walls tastefully wallpapered in soft green and white damask that held no calm for him with the noise from below only growing more pronounced from below, more instant and imposing. Usually he might be tempted to take the back stairs to avoid being so immediately on display, but the servants would be just as busy, and it was likely the chaos would be as off-putting there as here. 

It was a difficult task not to let his steps slow or halt as the noise of the Ball became more pronounced as he neared the stairs. He didn't want to go down there, but both the necessity along with the presence of the alphas with him prevented him from leaving. It wasn't that they would physically force him, but words would be said to Jack, and it was shameful enough that he struggled in the types of environment that omegas were meant to thrive, without adding Jack's displeasure on top of that. He could feel Zeller's gaze upon him, and, having taken his already bossy attitude along the same route as Jack's, but without as much niceties, he could almost sense the sneer just waiting to appear. The male, he knew, would much rather be elsewhere with Alana or perhaps mingling, rather than guarding him. The feeling was fairly mutual. 

The noise became suddenly so much worse the instant that he turned the corner onto the large curving stairs. He hated this place the most when the family were entertaining, the place where he could be seen, his arrival anticipated, gazes picking up on his presence. Nowhere to hide, and no way to escape those that immediately came towards him. 

"Ah there you are, Will. The man of the evening! Shame on you to have kept us waiting so long, though I dare say that suit is very becoming, so perhaps it is forgivable. Not to mention that the wait makes them all the more eager to see you." 

The elderly omega was a cousin of Jack's, and tended to come to most of the Balls, loving the society and socialising that her youth had enjoyed just as much. Now in her greying years, the omega was just as vibrant, especially in dress. It was a huge ruffled thing that demanded just as much attention as her words did. 

"Speaking of those who wish to meet you, this is Mr Edwards, who is staying with us for a time." 

The man was an alpha, and dressed in the more traditional black and white suit, which appeared to be well maintained but not quite as well tailored as his own suit was. It wasn't noticeable except for the small details that Will tended to pick up naturally. There was a scent about him that told well enough of a love of the pipe, and the more subtle scents of the soap he had used, the polish on his shoes, and leather, likely from the gloves he would have worn on travelling here. 

"Charmed, I am sure." 

"Have you known Mrs Baucroft long, Mr Edwards?" 

"Alas, no. I consider myself a good friend with her son, Robert, whom I met while I apprenticed in Exeter. I visited with him to his family a number of times, and found myself the grateful recipient of their invitation to stay when business brought me this way." 

"Of course you did, you are a very welcome guest!" 

She leaned in closer to Will, in a conspiratorial sort of way. Far closer than Will wished, but he knew better than to let it show. For now, at least, he could subdue the impulse to shift away. 

"It is so good to have a strong alpha to lean against, don't you think, my dear? Although my bloom is long gone, I dare say he might do well for you!" 

She chuckled heartily, seeming to be oblivious to the slightly scandalized look on Mr Edwards' face, as well as the discomfort on Will's. 

"Of course it would be my honour to write in your dance card, Mr Graham." 

Will didn't need any skill in perception to note just how dutifully this was said. The sheer fact that the man did not seem overly enamoured of the idea of courting him, made him almost wish to accept for the sheer novelty, but instead deferred to his previous strategy. 

"That is very kind of you, but I am not often given to dance, and have not a card tonight." 

The man seemed taken aback. It was fairly unheard of not to dance at least once during such a Ball, especially for an omega, especially an unmated one. Will could see him weighing the words, perhaps trying to work out if it was a rude rejection, but seemed to settle on the fact that there may be other reasons not to dance. 

"Then I will not pressure you to do so, though I am sure the dances will be poorer for the lack." 

"Thank you, Mr Edwards. If you will both please excuse me, I need to find mother." 

He bowed to them, and quickly made his exit away from them and the stairs, and into the main areas of the house. To give them credit, the two alphas with him did a fair job of giving him space from being jostled, but that wouldn't continue as the evening progressed, and people congregated together more. His best hope was to find Alana, and get as many of the necessary introductions done as soon as possible so that he could retire for the evening. 

"Do you know where she would be?" he asked Price, who was to his right. 

"Your guess is as good as mine. She should still be in the dance hall though, seeing to ensuring people have partners for the dancing. She usually does that." 

The one good thing about this time in the evening was that until he was formally introduced to a guest by someone he knew well, usually only close family, etiquette forbade them from approaching. In a Ball like this, where at least half of those here were strangers, more if you counted the omegas and betas that he had no real cause to talk to, he was relatively undisturbed moving through the rooms. They might discreetly watch, even question amongst themselves, but they couldn't introduce themselves to him without someone to vouch for them. It was as much a vanity of the aristocracy as it was a safeguard against the unworthy. He didn't find much praiseworthy in all the pomp and primping that these Balls inevitably encouraged, but in this he was pleased. 

Entering the ballroom, he moved aside from the bustle of the doorway to review the room, hoping to see his mother instead of having to walk the entire room to seek her, and the inevitability of delay and conversation that would bring. 

Although still early in the evening, the room was filled with scents, mostly perfumes, along with the ever-present smells of the people in it. Betas didn't tend to have a strong scent, but both alphas, of which there were plenty, and omegas, tended to have stronger scents, especially in a place like this that triggered the body to unfurl scent like a mating display. Will's own scent had never been strong, milder than most betas except for when he was anxious or afraid, as if to mock his wish for a quiet life, especially when his own sense of smell was acute, making him far more aware of what was going on around him. 

The room shone and glittered around the formally dressed guests within it. An ostentatious display of wealth and prestige, from the shining gold leaf on the cornicing to the eight hour candles of such quantity that it was almost too bright in the room. Alphas roamed in their suits or form-fitting dresses, betas in looser garments, beautiful and tailored, but somehow less formal, and omegas shone the brightest in vibrant colours, eye-catching suits, and flowing or even overflowing dresses. His own suit, he knew, would not immediately mark him as an omega, not bright enough in colour, but it was bad enough the attention he got without actively encouraging it. 

He had thought, perhaps hoped, that with age he would gain less attention, that the fact he was still unmated at eight and twenty would deem him unsuitable. Unfortunately the opposite seemed to be true. While most omegas had settled down with at least one alpha by the time their heats had settled between sixteen and eighteen, the fact that he had not chosen any by now seemed to be viewed as a challenge, and each season more came to try and win him than before. His nerves as well, he would have thought to be off-putting, but he had learned very early that this was not the case. Biology dictated the alphas respond. He still had nightmares sometimes about that lesson. 

"There she is." 

Price gestured to the far end of the room, and yes, there she was, still so youthful, beautiful and utterly in her element seeing to her guests. 

A quick glance told him that she would be making her way towards him here at the door, tending by habit to make a circuit of the room in a clockwise direction. Forcing himself to move, he eased through the gatherings of people towards her. Hopefully he could be seen here now, and be therefore able to avoid the large ballroom in favour of the smaller quieter rooms for the rest of the night. 

Sidestepping to avoid a flouncy dress that one of the visiting families' omega was wearing, he stepped up to his mother when she had moved on from her last conversationalist. 

"Will, you look lovely. Not ambushed too much I hope?" 

"Only by Mrs Baucroft and her guest Mr Edwards." 

"What did you make of him?" 

"Formal, gracious, not as moneyed as we are, and blissfully uninterested in trying to mate me. I liked him well enough." 

Alana laughed, linking her arm with his own as they moved slowly through the place, her alphas keeping people from approaching for now. Jack said nothing to all this, not as uncouth as to shame a family member in public, no matter how he disapproved. 

"Well there are quite a few new faces here tonight. Perhaps you will find someone who you will like well enough that does." 

He made an unconvinced and dissatisfied sound, hating having to do all this. She just chuckled, patting his hand as they started the round, as she chose to stop at different guests' groupings to speak to them, to introduce Will, to ensure they have dancing partners when desired. Each time he was asked, he allowed himself the gift of declining by not dancing at all, and Alana smoothed any ruffled feathers afterwards. 

By the fifth group he was tense against her, though the ointment kept that from being scented for the most part, but she knew when it was best to release him. None of them wanted him to have an episode in the middle of such a big event. And yet she didn't immediately let him exit to one of the more private rooms to calm himself, but moved them up the ballroom further. 

"I really wanted you to meet someone," she confides in him as they walk. "Do you recall I mentioned inviting a friend of mine to visit." 

"You have mentioned many people." 

"True, of course, and it was some months ago now. His name is Dr Lecter, a surgeon in the medical profession. We met at one of Anabelle's balls, and have kept in contact ever since. Although he is not the sort of alpha that suits me in the home, perhaps he might be in yours." She paused, her fingers idly running over the slim white of his cuff, her gaze downcast in thought. "He is clever and considerate, and controls himself very well. I... would not see him shamed. Please." 

The last few words were but a murmur between them, a plea from her, asking him to keep control of his anxieties and fears around this man. He was so shocked by this show of protectiveness for this alpha that his steps faltered. Usually his nerves were never so directly mentioned, never so directly cautioned, since they all knew the results of such things. The rejection by an omega in fear or distress could socially ruin a man. 

The low rumble of a growl from Jack behind him made Will step quickly forward to Alana once more, using the excuse of being closer to her as a mask for stepping away from Jack, who clearly didn't like her protectiveness over another, especially one not in their family. She gave Jack a slightly frustrated look before returning her attention to Will. 

"Originally from Lithuania, he holds the title of Count there. His family line is strong and fairly pure. He travelled here to study medicine and has stayed here since, having purchased a large house in town. He doesn't usually come to Balls like this, focusing on his work. I thought that might suit you more, having that space." 

The time for private converse was at a close as their alphas parted to reveal the man in question who bid those he had previously been speaking to, farewell so he could focus on the hosts. 

The first thing came to Will's mind when seeing him, was that this alpha was much older. However that brief illusion showed itself on closer inspection when it became clear that grey hair was in fact some sort of platinum that came from birth, not age. His face was all sharp edges, his eyes the most so. Those eyes could slice a man, he was sure. 

Will looked away quickly, flickering elsewhere, taking in the cut of the suit the man wore. Traditional suit, and yet the material was rich, a hint of maroon in the fabric that one had to be close to notice. Understated elegance, dark ruby cuff-links, no heavy cologne. In fact he could hardly pick up any scent from the man at all. Was he wearing ointment as well? His shoes were perfectly polished, no stitch of clothing or hair out of place, and, in short, Dr Lecter appeared entirely affluent in his situation. 

"Hannibal," Alana greeted him. The warmth of his mother's voice, as well as the use of his forename brought Will's gaze up sharply. Usually one would never use a forename when in public, and while the gathered alphas offered some privacy, her use of it here was bordering on shocking.  He could smell Jack bristling behind him at the familiarity, along with two others from the family, though not as prominently. "I am so pleased you could make it this evening. I know you are tremendously busy." 

"It would have been unconscionable to stay away when you were so good as to invite me." 

"I would have done so far sooner had you not been staying so far from this city. But please, allow me to introduce my son, Will. Will, this is Dr Lecter. 

Will bowed a little in greeting. He didn't offer his hand as was usual in omegas, both hands now being held behind his back since approaching. It was less about being diffident and demure as it was to hide the trembling that had been consistent for a while now from the stress of being paraded through this meat market. 

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mother speaks highly of you. I believe you are a surgeon?" 

He had had so very many of these conversations over the years that such polite platitudes were well habitualised, although Alana's regard for the recipients was not. That, and her very pointed concern for the man's reputation spoke far further and that alone only made his anxiety worse. In knowing that it was important not to become stressed, the worry that he 'would' only seemed to force the unwilling result. Why had she left to introduce the man now, when he had already been tense with the press and expectations of the crowd? 

"That is correct. I work at the Foundling hospital, having gained the position of head surgeon there last year." 

Prideful of that, clearly, but what alpha, what person would not be, truly? This pride was on display though, accomplishments, much like the richness of his clothes, shown to those who came close enough. 

"Congratulations on your post." 

It was not exactly an elegant response, but what should he give except that? The man knew his own worth, clearly, and to sing more praises would feel too much like oil from his mouth, thick, cloying, greasy and just as unpalatable. 

There was a minutest of pauses, an expectation that Will might say more, and when it became clear he did not intend to, Lecter continued as if such a pause had not taken place. 

"Thank you. The years of study and practice have stood me in good stead, and using my skills for bettering people's lives has it's own rewards, something I think you know about yourself. Although I have not had the fortune of being at one of your lectures, I have often found myself reading your segment in the Sunday Press." 

The man was polite, and, much as Alana had said, considerate in his words. Too considerate? Usually he could gain more insight on a person, but for all that the clothes offered information, the words, the tone hid far more than they revealed. Perhaps it was in response to the control he and the other alphas around him were having to exhibit due to his scent, to not crowd him. Alana didn't often pre-warn people, but for a friend she would have. 

"Did you find them interesting then? What aspect of the discourse on the societal constructs of the sub-genders intrigued you to return to it? Or was it the question and answer column you were referring to?" 

The question was lightly given, not truly meant to offend, but he had heard many variants of this conversation. Four in fact just tonight. Most, he found, had no real interest, and had only read the last couple when they found out they would be coming. That didn't bother him as much since it showed that they were, at least, trying to be attentive to his interests. What bothered him was the lies. 

"In truth, I read both, for life is better filled with knowledge as well as some levity. Your theory on the physiological necessity for omegan families I found especially intriguing, being that it crosses closely to my own field in a way. I saw hint of the philosopher Lavoie in your words. Do you read him often?" 

Will found himself glancing up, briefly to the man's face. Not mocking, as far as he could tell. Not lying either. No comment on whether he had liked or agreed with the piece, but Will wasn't interested in hollow praise, he would much rather have honest discussion. It did not bypass his notice that that particular article had been published over four months ago. 

"Often enough to be familiar with his theories, as well as their down-sides. He was too deeply fixated on destroying all societal roles, and it left him blinded when it came to dealing with biological responses." 

The alpha hummed a little in response, inclining his head a little to conceded the point. 

"I fear I have to cut in," Alana said apologetically, "I am up at the next dance, and it is due shortly. I know you are not dancing tonight Will, but perhaps you might show Dr Lecter the buffet room while the food is still at it's best?" 

Compromise, of course. This gave him adequate reason to retreat without having to, yet again, rehash the words of denial over dancing, while at the same time tied in company to this man, at least for a time. Alana wasn't usually this pressuring, but perhaps Jack's nagging had finally gotten to her. 

"It would be my honour." 

Not pleasure, he couldn't stretch that far. Although this Dr Lecter had shown himself to be well-mannered and clever, attentive to Will's work, he was still an unknown factor. Still someone he was now forced into socializing with. 

Dr Lecter bowed in acquiescence. "I hope we have some time to speak again soon, Alana. But I will not selfishly request it tonight, but soon." 

The man was charming, and as Will looked in a stolen glance, there was more going on here than mere politeness. The use of his mother’s forename, echoing the fact she had used his own, along with the implication that he had the ability to make demands of her time was daring, especially when her alphas were all right there.  That Alana acquiesced, only proved her inclination towards the meeting, and then she and most of her alphas dispersed into the crowd leaving them largely alone together. 

"Do you have something against Mr Crawford that you would needle him with mother’s regard for you?" Will asked, curious. Alana had intimated that a relationship with Dr Lecter was not an option for her, but did the male feel the same way. It was almost petty the way he had spoken, though he doubted many would have noticed. As it was, he was acutely aware of responses around him, and Jack's were familiar. 

"Nothing so acute as that," was the reply as they made their progress towards the door, Price staying with them, for which Will was grateful. At least Zeller was freed to roam however he liked now, instead of being forced into his company. "I hold your mother in great esteem, and would see her do better for herself." 

"With you?" 

Crude and obvious. He knew his words were unflattering to them both, but the crowds and the noise were getting to him worse now. He could barely think for it all, along with the rising claustrophobia of people. 

A loud laugh off to one side, the perpetrator unseen, and unseeing of the flinch it caused. He knew the laugh though. Knew it to avoid it. He couldn't deal with him right now. Just the thought of having to keep his cool through any conversation with that one had him change direction abruptly, Price having moved between Will and the sound. Price wasn't a very strong alpha, but his heart and instincts were in the right place. 

Dr Lecter said nothing to this, not immediately at least, for the time it took for them to change direction. By the time he answered, they had stepped into an antechamber that would lead to the main hallway. 

"Indeed not. For all that my respect for her is high, and my friendship an unceasing offer, we are not suited for more. In my selfish wish for her betterment, I merely feel she could do better." 

"She seeks safety and stability. Jack offers her that, and he does well by her, as do the rest of the family." 

"Of course. I would not wish to offend." 

Will glanced to him, trying to place the curious way it was spoken. Just a hint of something. Amusement? No, not truly. 

"Likewise. The press of people have probably rendered me rude. I apologize." 

It seemed best to do so. It was exhausting trying to work out the tones, the undertones, the hidden meanings, the references amongst the truth. They stepped through the hall, with Will ignoring people as they passed, never inviting conversation, even from those he had a decent acquaintance with. With Price on one side, and Dr Lecter on the other, they made it into the large dining room without incident. 

"We, all of us," Lecter said, "endure unseen pressures that render our responses less than optimal." 

To this, a small park of a laugh from Will. Unexpected and genuine at having his suspicion of rudeness confirmed and forgiven in such elegance that it rubbed like velvet, soft and smooth, not meant to harm. 

"Indeed so. And what of yours, Dr Lecter? What unseen pressures haunt you?" 

He could feel the regard upon him, even if he wasn't looking. In the relative openness of the dining hall, he could scent the man a little better, take in that elusive scent, so faint still, but still pleasant. It teased him into wanting to seek it further. 

"Rudeness," came the reply, "but I find myself quite forgiving the sensation in present company." 

It was ludicrous that the words, spoken mildly in that slight foreign accent, sent a flush of pleasure through him. 

"You practice charm as much as your skill with the knife, Dr Lecter. Does it see you satisfied often?" 

Fuck. That was rude, and the immediate knowledge of that made him duck his head slightly in apology. He should just keep his mouth shut so that he didn't end up shaming his own family more by his behaviour. 

"Yes, often. A failing of mine to seek the gratification of others' regard, something I have clearly failed at with you. And yet, I am not dissuaded by the challenge." 

Will could have sighed in frustration. Yet again, he was seen as a challenge. Something to be tackled and won. There was no doubt the man was charming, and despite Will's dismay, the affirmation that he was interested in him, even for this, was appealing. He had long ago had to come to terms with the fact that his biology seemed to seek such reassurances of intent. It didn't mean he would let himself be swayed by them though. After all, a challenge was only interesting until it was overcome. After that, there would be little left, and Will wasn't about to shatter what sense of stability he had against a neglectful or uninterested mate. 

"Do you have a particular interest in fine foods, Dr Lecter?" he asked in lieu of answering the surgeon's statement. "Mother brought in the chef from our country estate for the two Balls, to supplement the one here. Both have been praised highly, though I know little on the subject." 

They had manoeuvred over to where the large tables were laid with different concoctions and delights. Show-pieces to astound with visuals rather than merely taste. He absently picked up one of the canapé and popped it into his mouth. He didn't think his stomach would hold much, maybe not even that for long, but he didn't want to explain that, as he always had to when alphas wanted to get him a selection, and then inevitably became put-out or clingingly trying to please him by finding him something more suitable when nothing was. By feeding himself, he had found it the most expedient way of negating all that. He knew it was a denial of care, but not an overt one. He had to tell himself it was a lesser rejection than would occur if he didn't. After all, by feeding himself, no offer had yet been made to give a denial to. It was safer. 

If Dr Lecter noticed this, he didn't show, merely pointing out to one of the servers which items he would like, before taking the carrying plate offered. 

"That I do," he said in response to Will, "Cooking, in it's own way is so much more than sustenance. It is skill and timing, of strength and precision. In many ways it is like my own work, but ultimately more controlled in circumstances." 

"You sound as if you practice it yourself." 

"I find it calming." 

Will regarded him with this very unusual of admissions. Not that a surgeon would find cooking to be calming, but that he would do it at all. Alphas and omegas didn’t cook their own food, it wasn't seen as a worthy part of their day when others could do that for them, moreover that those people would take great pride and pleasure in doing that task for them. To admit to enjoying cooking was tantamount to declaring oneself a beta, something no alpha of prominence would conceive of, especially when courting. And yet Dr Lecter offered it to him with a calculated openness, testing perhaps how he would respond. In truth, Will wasn't entirely sure how to respond. As the chance for insult was fairly high, and especially as he had misstepped several times already on that count, and so he forced himself not to merely respond in the first way he conceived this man. This Dr Lecter did nothing, Will thought, without a vast amount of forethought and planning. There would be no winning in an argument with him, but the man might conceded points in a discussion if it was well-made and appropriate to do so. Unfortunately Will's ability to make decent conversation or even grant thoughtful answers was curtailed vastly by their surroundings. 

"Bettering one’s skills and knowledge should always be lauded." 

It was the best he could offer, a much used quote from his mother all during his childhood. Familiar enough to trust it wouldn't be intrinsically insulting, which at this point was all he could hope for. 

Dr Lecter was interrupted from offering a reply by a couple of alphas that came over to speak to him. Will did not know them, and Dr Lecter was not close enough to the family, or to him, to make the introduction they clearly hoped for. The fact that no introduction could be given, left Will a bystander while Lecter spoke with them. He was brief, and the slightly more casual tone he had used with Will was gone to a far more crisp and formal tone that sent far clearer a sign, to Will's mind, of the man's dissatisfaction with the interruption. 

The pair lingered long enough that it became clear that there would be no introduction, but were polite enough, just, to not directly ask for one. They left with the promise to speak with him later in the evening, bowing lightly to them both before retreating, their covetous scents lingering enough that Will let his steps move them from the place to one of the other tables where drinks were being served. 

"I apologize for the interruption. They should have known better." 

Will nodded a little, his gaze lingering on the glasses on show, before deciding that he truly couldn't afford the risk of getting drunk when his mother's friend was in attendance. A fruit juice with ice was best for now, at least until he could retreat to his own room. 

He wanted to say something clever, or at least something acceptable, finding that he didn't like leaving the impression that he was just an abrasive idiot that couldn't guard his own tongue enough. Perhaps it was because Alana thought so well of this man to plead caution to him, or the fact that Dr Lecter had such a clear disdain for Jack, who sort of typified the straight-forward thinking. It was frustration then that was his inner companion when no witty or clever response or conversation announced itself within his mind, instead having to return back to the well-traversed list of subjects and sentences that had been deemed generally appropriate to discuss in polite company. 

"They will likely find more pleasure in dancing and at the card tables. Do you play, Dr Lecter?" 

Even to his own ears, although worded as it had been in the past with different names and faces, he felt the lack in his own skill. The smells of of the food and the people was all the stronger now that they were not chilled from coming out of cold weather, and the noise of the place was pressing uncomfortably as more people made their way through after a dance. 

Once more they moved, Lecter seeming as content to let Will lead the way as Price was. Considering he could feel the glances from others in the room now, he could only applaud the alpha in his mind for the restraint that took. 

"I don't play cards often, but I do adequately at them." 

"False modesty, Dr Lecter?" 

"Ah," there was a slight pause, the touch of a smile on those lips, "I can see I should never play against you, Mr Graham. Most card games rely on memory, evaluating expression for tells, and only giving your opponents what you want them to see. My training at work leaves me at somewhat of an advantage." 

Will allowed a smile at this, preferring the truth to the half-lie, his steps leading them through to the large sitting room. It was still mostly empty of people, as they sedately chased relative quiet. 

"I am fair at reading people, but the rest leaves me a poor card player. I learned early to play only games that rely on chance. Although my luck tends on the unfortunate side, better that than the certainty of defeat." 

"Your skills reside in other areas, ones far more useful and insightful than of social pastimes that are based on trickery." 

Flattery, clearly, but not false, and not, he found, unappreciated. 

"Thank you." 

It was unusual to feel that gratification. Usually such things tended only to elicit annoyance or discomfort in him. Not that he was particularly comfortable, but it didn't make him want to scoff or hit the man, which was hopeful at least. What was also hopeful was the fact that he was still in his presence, and had likewise not felt a greater need to escape. A quick glance to Price almost made him smile, for the man wiggled his eyebrows, silently intimating the same thought. Perhaps finding a partner for this heat would not be as much of a chore as the last had been. He was sorely tempted to just leave the Ball entirely after this meeting and not return, but he knew that wouldn't be allowed, not on the first Ball of the season. It was expected he would be around for the majority of it. 

"Perhaps we can talk more on your lectures another time, when circumstances and quiet are more accessible." 

He had probably let the silence between them linger too long. Long enough that the man was allowing a graceful exit, while still showing his continued interest. 

"I'd like that, I think." 

He was intrigued by this clever man, this surgeon who played with people like they were his toys. Perhaps the man liked him for his crudeness, making him unlike the rest, or perhaps it merely was just the challenge inherent in bedding the oldest unmated omega in high-society. Either way, he did indeed find the thought of seeing more of him in future, especially if he himself was in a better frame of mind to respond. The latter, of course, was not a guarantee, but at least a possibility. 

"I shall look forward to that then, Mr Graham, and, having received your good will, at least for now, I shall impose on your respite no longer. I wish you the rest of the evening as pleasant as possible, having quite brightened my own." 

He bowed, but didn't assume to try and take his hand to kiss. Clever man. 

"And you, Dr Lecter." 

Will watched the man move off, back through the way they had come, whether to get more food or merely to pass off his plate, he didn't know. 

"Seemed to go well." 

The comment from Price was hopeful for him, and he made a slight nod in return. But now released from company, he had only one need in mind, and that was peace. The alpha didn't comment as they made their way along the back halls to the discrete stairs there that would take him to the family rooms. They only passed two servants, thankfully not disrupting either. 

"Could you give me a tap on the door at the third-to-last song?" he asked Price, who smiled and nodded, easy in his own way, to please. Likely pleased also to have some time on his own. 

"Sure thing." 

And then he was alone. Blessedly alone with the door closed in his apartment, and it slowly became easier to breathe as he stripped out of his suit. 

Shaking hands filled the waiting glass from the decanter as he sat down on the chair by the fire in nothing but his underpants and toweling cloths to soak up the lingering damp of the anxiety from his skin. He would need to wash and reapply the ointment before going back down later, but this was a well-practiced routine. The ointment was one of the few really expensive items he used with any regularity. It was so difficult to manufacture correctly that only two alchemists sold them, and those supplies were exceedingly limited. But for him, it wasn't an indulgence, but a necessity. Without the ointment they would all have been able to scent his unreasonable distress and react to it, and he didn't even want to consider what a bloodbath that would be. 

He could hear the soft sounds of the servants pouring buckets of heated water into the bath in the next room. He would get up in a few minutes, when the alcohol had helped reduce the shaking, when he could forget for a little while that he needed to go back out there. 

\-- 

It was just over two and a half hours later when that knock came on his door. It didn't immediately open, which told him, much as the scent did, that it was Price there. Bidding him to enter, Will straightened the jacket a touch more, or tried to. He could feel the alpha's attention on him. Knew he would already have noticed the empty decanter and the fact that his body had a fine tremble to it that the alcohol had neither caused nor prevented. As much as the break was necessary, returning to the Ball was always harder. By now, gentility and manners would have slipped, by now both alcohol and frivolity would have loosened tongues, freed inhibitions. The place would be louder, more ruckus, and exuberant, and the scents were always stronger. So much stronger that he could choke on it. Sometimes he did. 

"Jacob and Nathan will be up shortly. They were just finishing up a dance." 

Will just grunted a little to show he was listening. He knew Price was likely wishing to have more, and Will felt just a little more broken because of that. 

"That Dr Lecter, you were right about him being good at cards. He cleared out those two that interrupted you earlier. They knew it was coming too, when he sat with them. Seemed like they expected it almost. They took it good naturedly, no matter that they lost over £700 to him. Not what Jack would have done for a rude imposition, but it was pretty impressive. Remind me not to ever play cards with that man." 

£700 was a vast amount of money, around a full year’s worth of a professional’s income.  There was another pause when Will didn't respond. He just didn't have it in him, and didn't want to do this. 

"Come on, kiddo," came the soft encouragement from the alpha, one that made his eyes burn. Shit. He couldn't deal with kindness just now, not if he was to make it out of the room. Price seemed to understand that, because he cleared his throat, turning to the door at the sound of footfalls. A worthy distraction. 

When the other two alphas were let in, and to their credit, they didn't try to talk to him, or come to him. He knew it was probably working a Hell upon their instincts, because while he was fairly certain that they couldn't scent his skin because of the ointment, they knew him. They knew his posture and demeanour well enough, and the scent from before would still be saturating the room. 

"I left my cuff-links in the bathroom. Could you get them for me, please?" 

Left on purpose. They likely knew it, just as they understood he hadn't specified who was to get them, letting them judge which one would find this the most helpful, to provide for an omega in distress. But he couldn't let them close, not as they wanted to, needed to, but he could do this. Giving them something small to do, something he could have done himself. It was an apology, in his own way, even though it looked like a needless, even lazy request. 

It was Jacob that emerged with them a few moments later, hovering briefly, likely wanting to help him put them on, but chose, wisely, to set them down on the table beside Will instead. Jacob was Alana's newest alpha. Young and earnest. He was about the same age as him, but made Will feel old. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Price set a hand on Jacob's shoulder as he went back to the door. Silent support and camaraderie between warriors on a battlefield they were ill-equipped to handle. 

Perhaps he could get Dr Lecter to remove his omega organs, Will thought with a fatalist sort of humour, at least then he wouldn't have to continue this farce. He had been tempted by similar thoughts, though not the means, many such times, when being seen in society was necessary. However the stigma towards even mentioning a thought of such a thing was so great, that it would likely gain him only a ticket to the asylum, and he had heard enough about that place, even as modern and scientific as it was meant to be, to make him utterly discard the idea each time. 

So heats and society it was then. No escape. 

He downed the last of the whiskey in his glass and fixed the cuff-links with trembling fingers that made the effort so difficult. Impossible even. In the end, he had to hold out the cuff from himself towards the three alphas, because struggling with items was proving only to raise the panic in him towards more dangerous levels. 

"Don't touch the skin," a low murmur from Price to Jacob, whom he could scent coming closer. He wanted to tell the boy he was sorry, but he could neither get his mouth to move, nor would saying it ease the young alpha. Will kept his gaze looking elsewhere, as he felt the careful tug of the shirt, before it fell into place with the weight of the cuff-link, the same on the other side before Jacob retreated again. He could scent the alpha's distress at not being able to calm him. He could almost wish for Zeller's sneering attitude, and perhaps Price had the same thought to, or one similar, because he nudged Jacob towards the door, then the sound of footsteps retreating. 

No one spoke. They waited. A few minutes later, Zeller's unmistakeable footsteps could be heard, and Will washed his mouth with some water to get rid of the taste of alcohol, before making his way to the door. 

The scent of distressed alpha followed him down the corridor until it disappeared into one of the rooms they passed. He wanted to go to Jacob, tell him he was sorry, calm and reassure him, but knew he could not. He didn't have the fortitude or lies it would take to help the boy. Best he could do was just let him deal with it himself until Alana could see him. For now, it was pretty much beyond him even to deal with walking through the lower portions of the house to let himself be seen. He hoped to all that was lucky, that no one would speak to him. 

He made no pretence of even considering using the main stairs this time. Zeller could sneer all he wanted, this wasn’t about creating the right impression any more, it was just about surviving without causing a catastrophe, until he could leave for the night. He had no idea why Jack and Zeller seemed adamant that this was a good thing to be doing. 

Down the back stairs, steps clearly heard on the stones polished by centuries of busy footsteps. Price moving ahead to delay any servants, because an ill-timed surprise meeting would certainly not be good right now. 

The corridor empty, they made their way towards the noise of Hell beyond. 

The shock of it, the noise, the scents, caused his steps to falter, his hand gripping the door frame, unable to make his body take him closer, not until he spotted a group of guests. Movement was necessary then, to escape them, because Mrs Hayward was amongst the group, and would be delighted to corner him to introduce them all. Retreat was seriously considered an option despite having to deal with Jack later, but he was already enough of a failure in this respect, and, while horrible, what if Jack was right? What if he just needed to get used to the noise and people, and then it wouldn't be nearly as bad? 

He lurched forward, steps far faster than was demure, but fuck it, he was not going to be stopped by Mrs Hayward tonight. No way was he together enough to deal with that. 

Ruckus laughter, harsh and loud, conversations filled with scents of promise and need, a couple, hand-in-hand cavort past towards the dining room. The sound of the musicians, the call for the last dance. Good, he made it for that at least. Jack and Alana would be dancing in that, and it was a more sedate piece, always, to ensure guests would take the cue that it was time to gather and return home shortly. 

"William, darling, there you are!" 

No, no no no... not now. Not tonight. 

But of course tonight. Of course him, who had somehow managed to get invited despite Will having denied his advances in the past. 

"Mr Froideveaux," Will said, an acknowledgement, not much more. "I didn't realize you were here tonight." 

"Where else would I be, when you are here? Oh, but it is a splendid Ball. The music and the food, but I was quite beside myself when I thought I had missed you, hiding yourself away to make everyone yearn. But here you are! So handsome! Ah, William, how I have missed you, I could barely think! But yes, you are here now, and all is well again. Come, I hear you have not danced all night, and I simply couldn't bear such a thought, so I found this card for you, see? So we could stand the last dance together." 

He was in a nightmare, he was sure now. Forced to think up a polite way of getting rid of Franklin Froideveaux without shaming him more than he already was himself. Not an easy task on the best of days, and fairly impossible even then, because it was Franklin 

"As I mentioned to others, I have no wish to dance tonight," he said with as firm a tone as he could manage. "I’ve also had enough to drink to stumble the steps," he added, not wanting another alpha distressed tonight because of him, and Franklin could end up in a state, poor man. Unfortunately for Will, it only proved a distraction the man was better able to counter. 

"Oh, don't worry about that. You can lean on me. It's always the slow one last. It'll be lovely, and I can guide you to the music, and all the candles twinkling, it will be so romantic!" 

His hand was grabbed, and his arm tucked firmly in Franklin’s before he had realized what was happening. 

"Darling William, you are so tense! There's no need to worry. I'll help you through it. Come on, it's almost ready to start!" 

Breathe. Breathe and don't freak out. Don’t just... tell him no. Tell him. 

Zeller's low growl, limited enough to warn Franklin, to try and reassure Will he had backup, but Zeller couldn't do anything if he seemed willing. Rules by society, put in place to stop overbearing family ruin youngsters chances at finding a mate. He knew that. But he couldn't seem to make himself speak, and there were dark spots starting to grow in his eyes. 

"Mr Graham, is everything all right here?" 

Not Zeller, nor Price. Not family, but the cool accent of someone in control as he was not. Yes, no. He managed to shake his head a little, just enough it seemed, to convey his meaning. He hoped. 

"Dr Lecter, I think Mr Graham might be feeling a little unwell. Some fresh air might do him good." 

"Oh William," Franklin, so clearly Franklin speaking, "I didn't mean... of course, some air. I should have thought of that. We can go now, and maybe a drink to. That will help you, darling, won't it? Yes, we should get you some air. You are shaking like a leaf!" 

The urge to strike out was strong. So strong. 

"Perhaps Mr Froideveaux you would be kind enough to get Mr Graham a drink and his coat so that he does not catch a chill outside. I shall escort him out myself to ensure his health." 

Franklin looked between Will, who was really not looking that well, and the confident medical professional offering assistance. It was clear he was struggling to give up being with Will, for even so short a time, especially to another. But his instincts to provide seemed to win out along with the logic. 

"Yes," came the slightly more hesitant reply, before repeating it to Will. "I won't be long, darling, don't worry. The doctor will help you outside, okay?" 

He managed to nod his head, and only then because anything, anything to stop Franklin touching him, showing a claim on him, was necessary. 

As soon as Franklin’s back was turned, Will all but flung himself in the opposite direction. He could feel, smell, all the attention that the little episode had brought. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel their gazes as he moved past, Price and Nathan carving a path, while Zeller stayed behind, and Dr Lecter keeping pace with easy, fluid strides. 

A call of his name from down the hall, but it was impossible to stop now. He had to get out, away from them. Away from it all. 

"Not that way." 

Price's voice. He let himself be guided, barely aware other than his need to get out. 

Fresh air suddenly, the cold of it burning his lungs after the heat of the Ball. 

"Mr Graham, slow your breathing, or you are likely to pass out." 

As good as passing out and not being aware of this nightmare any longer, he was also aware that passing out would only make things worse. He had already been the cause of enough trouble and gossip at the Ball tonight, and his family didn't need more. So he tried, he really tried to calm his breathing. Unfortunately that seemed easier said than done. 

"Maybe take a seat by the Wall of the herb garden. You will be out of the chill wind there." 

A good idea. Logical. He could appreciate the logic, especially when his body was being so chaotic, and he directed his steps over that way, forcing himself to sit, rather than to stand and pace. 

Mortification when a tiny distressed sound escaped his lips when he heard Franklin’s hurried footsteps on the grass, ones that were soon accompanied by the scent of his admirer. He clapped his hand over his mouth to staunch any other sounds, only to do it with the wrong hand, and instead got the inundation of Franklin’s scent from where it had seeped into his suit jacket like a contagion. 

Fuck. Fuck that. He started to struggle to get out of the suit jacket, even as fluid steps over crisp grass went over to meet the man responsible. 

"Thank you Mr Froideveaux, that was very helpful." 

"Oh, it was no trouble, Doctor. I would do anything for my darling, William." 

Footsteps started, then halted just as quickly as they were interposed. 

"I will give them to Mr Graham for you. He needs time alone to steady himself right now." 

"Oh, of course, but I can give them to him myself. I'll sit with him. He will like that." 

"I'm afraid that would defeat the purpose Mr Froideveaux. I was not mis-saying when I used the term. You will note the alphas of his family are also giving him space? You need to trust his family to know his needs and wishes." 

"Yes... yes of course, you are right. It's just, it's been such a long time since I got to see him last.” 

"I am sure he feels that time keenly, Mr Froideveaux, but you are best serving him by allowing him space to recover himself." 

It was with hesitant gestures, and even more hesitant steps that the man retreated. Will had managed to get out of his suit jacket, losing a button in the panic, and the offending article of clothing was now held by Price. 

"Your coat, Mr Graham." 

Will looked up, his breathing still too fast, but as he drew in a slight breath to scent the air, no lingering one of Franklin remained on the coat that he could detect. Reaching out, he took it, smelling instead the hints of the surgeon's elusive scent, a careful over-marking to remove the scent of a rival. 

"Thank you." 

He pulled it around himself, struggling with the buttons, before giving up on them and just using his arms to hold it closed. None of the four alphas offered to help him with it. He was supremely grateful. 

Dr Lecter moved to sit on the other end of the bench, leaving a good distance between them. Will was aware that he was now the only one wearing a coat, but he knew better than to mention it. All alphas were stubborn to some extent, but even so, they didn't react to the cold as much as the other genders, their bodies running hotter. 

"Your family should be proud of you tonight," Lecter said, and Will looked over to him. Of all the things he had thought he might hear from the man, polite mockery was not it. It didn't show in the tone, or the demeanour, only the words, but the words were damning enough. There was, after all, nothing even remotely praise-worthy about what had just happened. "I have seen a great many things in my life, but never have I before tonight witnessed such a depth of self-awareness during adversity and selfless willpower not to harm, as I saw in that ballroom tonight. Mr Froideveaux will likely never know the gift you gave him tonight, or what it cost you to give it. But I am not unaware, and neither should your family be." 

"I don't want him." 

"I am not unaware." 

Will took that in, his hurt having been turned into unexpected understanding. The silence of the cold evening remained, both seeming content to leave it so for now. Will deep in recurring thoughts that had, now, a counterpoint. That was a gift as well, in many ways far more precious to him than others. 

"Thank you." 

How long it had been since the statement of gratitude had been spoken when afterwards he lapsed into silence, he didn't know. Long enough for his breathing to slow, for some of the trembling to ease a bit. Long enough that he had started to yearn for the easy warmth of the house once more, despite the coat. 

Standing slowly, he stretched his legs a little, watching out of the corner of his eye as the slender gentleman beside him did the same. 

"The evening reminds me it is cold and sensible people should not linger outside for long. I... appreciate your gift to me tonight." 

"It was my pleasure, Mr Graham. I believe the evening whispers of home to me as well, so I shall bid you a peaceful evening." 

"And you." 

They both made polite bows. So genteel, this play of manners, after the cascading nightmare of before. Moving back to the house, the coat tucked tight around him, he was glad that there would be no need to go back to the Ball. He had done enough, put up with enough that he felt no guilt for taking the back stairs to his room and having no intention of exiting there again in the near future. 

"I didn't see him hand you a gift. What did he give you?" 

Will looked over to Nathan at the question. 

"Understanding." 

The alpha looked confused, Zeller looked like he wanted to scoff. Only Price looked thoughtful on the matter. 

"Goodnight." 

He nodded to them before stepping into his room and locking the door. A firm and practised movement that would do little to stop the nightmares that were sure to follow.


	2. Hazy Mornings and Golden Bribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the first courting ball of the season, Will struggles to find the stability and clarity after the near-disastrous events of the evening previous. The world will not wait for him to recover, however, and soon the pressures of society's expectations are once more demanding his attention.

Morning came with a bleary eyed resistance to the idea, fuelled by lack of proper sleep, whiskey and nightmares, both real and imagined. No one called him down for the first meal, one that perhaps only a couple would make it down for, but the regular fussing of the servants that came and went to tend to the fire, the bath, to lay out clothing, all pointed relentlessly to the conclusion that avoiding his family for longer would not be tolerated. 

They should be proud. 

The words, first thought of as a slight, but then transformed into the compliment he had never thought to get, not for that. Never for that. It sat with him, along with all the worries and inadequacies. They should be. Alana would, maybe, if she knew what happened, but he doubted Jack would understand. Those words though, they hadn't merely been meant for him. A man like Lecter didn't seem the type to only give one reason, one answer. No, it had been a reminder to the family that they were treating Will's nerves too lightly. A warning perhaps that they should take better care at protecting him. Zeller wouldn't have grasped that, but perhaps Price would have told his mother at least. He could only hope it was so, even if it resulted in a quiet luncheon without the pressuring. 

By the time he made it down to the family dining room, he was late. His hands weren't steady, and it had made doing up the various buttons difficult. Stubborn, Jack thought, that he continued to avoid having a servant dress him if he had such issues. Like the Grand Balls, he thought Will would get used to the touch. After last night, he was more given to believe in his own assessment, that it wasn't so simple or as clear-cut. 

Despite what the servants had laid out for him, Will had forgone the offerings and instead opted for loose, comfortable clothing that was the instant topic of criticism from Jack. 

"God, William, must you come down here looking like a destitute beggar? What if we had company! I mean, look at it! That jumper is vastly out-sized, and so threadbare it should have been sent to the rag man years ago." 

"It's comfortable." 

"Then choose something else to wear that is comfortable. It isn't like you lack a choice. Your mother likes her comfort as much as you do, but you don't see her wearing decrepit rags like that." 

"You wish for me to change." 

"Yes." 

"But after lunch, dear. There's no need to trouble yourself right now. How are you feeling?" 

Alana's words were mild, trying to ease the tension in him with conversation. Unfortunately it was a topic he loathed. 

"Tired." 

"Well, perhaps you can take a nap after you help me sort through the gifts." 

The gifts. He had conveniently forgotten about those. Presents from attendees for the family, or more correctly, the family's omega. It was a show of wealth and prestige from alphas, a way to buy affections, or hint at what other things they had to offer. It had always felt far too contrived and subversive on both sides to make him feel easy. Most of the time he had the gifts sold off and invested the money in one cause or another. It had been a set of homes for the worthy elderly last time. He hadn't given any thought as to what it would go to now. Jack, of course, didn’t approve, not when he felt Will should be hoarding the money, or investing it for himself and his future family. In truth, there was a lot about Jack and him that would never find common ground. 

"I have had Hettie start organizing them in the blue drawing room." 

Not the place he wanted to sit right now, south-facing and sunny. At least the alphas wouldn't be there, as the gifts were traditionally dealt with by the people they were intended for. He supposed the fact that Alana and Hettie were helping at all was a boon. He said nothing, still trying to gather himself to even contemplate doing anything productive today. 

"A lot of gifts from alphas this time. Enough to invest in something sensible at least." 

Like a business to pressure for profit, like furniture hand-crafted for the home and mate he didn't have. 

"I was thinking an animal rescue charity this time." 

This of course sparked an outburst of incredulity and outrage from Jack. There was something so satisfying to have accomplished that after what Jack's orders had put him through the previous evening. For some reason Jack had never really responded to his distress as other alphas had. Part of it was because of his position in the family as lead alpha, but Will suspected it was also that Jack truly believed his ways would make the situations better, and wasn't above being incredibly pushy to get to that. It didn't help that his large size and swift-forming temper only made him that much more intimidating. 

The comment had been initially more of a joke, a consideration that had gone to unlikely to certainty when met with the force of Jack's temper. Perhaps it was petty of him to rile the man so, but he would never be the omega that Jack truly wanted as a son. Too broken, considered to be not trying hard enough, and unable to have his own space like any other omega, because he couldn't seem to tolerate any of them as a mate, forced to keep house with his mother's mate who disapproved of him. So Will used what little power he had, how he wanted it. 

Will forced himself to take a small bite of food, flinching when Jack's fist met the table in a resounding bang. He chewed the piece of potato carefully, trying to focus on that rather than the angry alpha whose aura and scent were pressing down on the room's atmosphere. He didn't bother picking his fork back up again, knowing his hands would be shaking too much to offer the illusion of calm he was trying to project. Jack could not dictate what he spent the gifts on, but he could try to change his mind. It didn't matter that he knew Jack would not hit him, or that it had been his intent to irritate the man. The reaction made his body want to submit, to cower, to give over the power to the one who knew best, who would protect him. Jack wouldn't smell or notice the distress coming off him, but the rest of the table were not oblivious. All the other alphas at the table were in various levels of upset, and Jack ignored them, while Will ignored the desperation to make the situation right. He didn't want to be the cause of it, Jack knew that, and used that to pressure him to. The alpha didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. He would have liked to have said something sassy, something clever and articulate, but it was all he could do to merely keep breathing steadily. He might have walked out of the room if he had thought Jack wouldn't merely command him back, like an unruly pup, as was his right to do as head alpha of the family. 

So Will sat, his clothing now soaked with stress from the residual memories and nightmares, and Jack's relentless pushing. 

"Jack." 

The quiet chastisement from Alana was enough to ease the air, ease the tension. It did not ease the distress in Will, nor the other alphas around. 

"It's ridiculous, Alana. I’ve never heard of something so devoid of good sense!" 

"Jack, let's not discuss this at the table. We had quite enough excitement at the Ball, and some relaxation would do us all some good." 

"Yes. The Ball," Jack's anger now having a different target to focus on, and Will could have groaned if he wasn't already using all his considerable willpower into not giving Jack the satisfaction of seeing him bend to his wishes. "What the Hell were you thinking, Will, walking out of the Ball like that, completely ignoring Ms Hamill and causing a scene!" 

"Jack!" 

Alana's voice had changed from the sweet placating tone, to one that was as sharp as Dr Lecter's eyes. The entire room was saturated with scents of angry and distressed alphas, and as he sits there, Will can still feel the lingering grip of Franklin on his arm, dragging him away from the safety. The touch. The touch had been bad enough, more than bad enough, but it had been the fact that he had been unable to deny the action that had terrified him the most. 

"Will?" 

Talked over, ignored and used like a marionette. Voiceless to stop being treated like that. _I found this card for you_. None of them had stopped him. _Don't worry, you can lean on me. It'll be so romantic_. 

"Will!" 

The dining room sharpened, too bright, panic clawing at his throat. Alana was there, her hands cupping his face, one of the only touches his body didn't automatically react against. Her gaze was worried, but trying not to show it. He could smell it on her. Too close. 

"Will, why don't you get up and get changed. I'll meet you in the blue day room when you are ready." 

She stood then from where she had been crouched beside his chair. He hadn't even noticed her come over, but that was not unusual when he was struggling. Her hands settled on his forearms, not his hands, a gentle encouragement to stand. He could go? He could leave the table now, even though his lunch was almost untouched? Had everyone else finished then? No. Most of the food was untouched. Strong hands on armrests, on the table, but all of them had white knuckles. 

Oh. 

She stepped aside and he moved past to the door, moving out and closing it quietly behind him. 

\-- 

"The thank-you cards and invites really need to be done today. I have sent Jack and Zeller into town to get some things for the weekend, and they won't be back until dinner." 

It was two days since the Ball, and one since he had sequestered himself into his room, and he had not yet been beyond his rooms since then. But Alana was right, these letters could not wait any longer. It was already on the cusp of being rude by the delay. 

So, with the promise that they would not accidentally meet Jack or Zeller, he merely nodded. He could do this. The blue drawing room was peaceful, though bright, but she would probably allow him to draw the curtains if need be. But more than that, he knew he would have to start to get used to leaving his rooms again, because for as much as he would like to give himself longer to stabilize himself, he was very aware of the second Ball this weekend, one that he would have to, unfortunately, attend. 

"Excellent. I'll have the servants send in some lunch for us there." 

He watched her go, annoyed but also grateful that she had left his door open. It shouldn't feel like such a barrier, especially since the servant's door had been left unlocked throughout, but it did. Remnants of the day before, when it had felt like the only thing keeping him safe. He didn't want to give up that feeling of safety, even knowing that it was an illusion. 

Drawing on a soft belted cardigan rather than the old jumper he preferred, and supposed that was another win for Jack trying to turn him into a respectable omega. He forced himself past the door and out into the hallway. It was quiet, which usually would be good, but with his nerves, it made him feel like it was more of an unsprung trap he hadn't been able to detect. Unsettling to understand that the house no longer felt as safe as before. It would ease in time though, or at least he hoped it would. 

The blue drawing room was bright and airy, and in this at least it was unwelcome. What was likewise unappealing was the sheer amount of boxes waiting for attention, pushy and demanding in the otherwise serene room. He remembered looking in awe at such gifts when he was young, the sheer number granted to his parents after a Ball had been a dream so far beyond the restrained gift-giving at Winter Solstice, a thing of wonder. Now an adult with a room filled with gifts of his own, it had quite the opposite effect, knowing what was likely to have been typically given, and knowing to the amount of list-making and letter writing that was now required of him. He shouldn't feel the task was so unwelcome, after all most of these would indeed go to fund something he would feel useful, but there was something about being given gifts that were so very far from what he would ever wish for, gifts that only set to remind him of just how great the gap was between himself and what other omegas wished for and craved, that it just made that gulf all the more evident. 

"Hettie and I have sorted them into the different types, to make it a bit easier. These ones here are from people related to us by birth or mating. These ones on this table are from people who are not related, but not there for mating, and the rest are from those that are." 

The last pile was by far the largest, both in number, and in size. It was also the pile that he was least looking forward to. 

Will sighed, resigned. This entire day would be tedious letter writing and list making. After all, each gift had to be catalogued and noted for future records. It wouldn't do, after all, to be unsure what a person or family had given, especially due to the cost many of them had associated. 

"I guess I'll set up on the far desk and make a start," he said, "Hettie, could you bring a couple of lamps please?" 

It would be impossible to settle and do such a tedious job with the sun shining so brightly. That and the lingering unease from the day before meant that today was indeed a closed-curtains day. Still, he didn't draw them all, only those by the side of the room where he would be sitting, as there was no need to subject all of them to the dim lighting he knew they disliked when sunshine was to be had. Alana said nothing about it, both used to it by now, and perhaps unwilling to be seen as pushy after the stress of the last few days. His nerves were trying on her, though she was by no means free from anxieties after the attack all those years ago. He supposed the fact that he had been so young at the time meant that it had affected him far more deeply as a result, and he was grateful she didn't seem to suffer that at least. 

So he sat himself down as the lamps were brought, soft lighting rather than the harsher blue of the sky, and set about the task, listening as Alana and Hettie did the same with the family and non-mating gifts. There was a sort of repetitive calm in the task, for while it wasn't exactly pleasant, it wasn't demanding anything of him that he couldn't give. Each small notation in the ledger and the brief thank you notes were of a known format, few deviating, and only then because some small comment had to be made about each gift. But it was dull, not particularly stress-inducing, although draining. More often than not he was just baffled by what people thought omegas would want. What he would want. Although gifts at this stage of the courtship to find a mate could hardly be that personal, it would be inappropriate if nothing else, the sheer gaudiness of some of the items made him wince. 

"Do people really like this stuff? Really?" he asked, holding up a large bejewelled headdress. "What do they expect me to do with this? Strut and pretend I am some sort of Greek nymph with a pearl fetish?" 

They looked over, Alana seeming amused, while Hettie stifled a chuckle. 

"I agree that particular gift isn't exactly to your taste," Alana said, good humour making her eyes sparkle, "but many omegas like to dress up ostentatiously, to shine, if you will, and you have to agree that it would indeed draw attention." 

"Not for the right reasons! Wearing more colourful clothing is one thing, but this is just horrific nonsense." 

"Am I to assume then that the alpha that sent it has not won your favour?" 

Her question was mildly put, but very clearly holding in laughter. 

"I should say not! God, if that is what they want their future omega to wear, I can't think of a worse option than me." 

He shook his head, amused despite his dismay, setting the offending item aside to be dealt with along with the rest, glancing up as she came over to look at the gifts. He sighed, leaning against the desk before going and pouring himself another finger of whiskey. 

"Are there really no gifts that you truly like? What of those you have here?" 

"Those are gifts from alphas I didn't dislike at the Ball, or ones I liked the gift well enough from." 

It was a small pile, exceedingly considering the sheer volume of gifts in the room, but she looked over his choices with interest. On the whole, the ones he had chosen were more practical, or at least less gaudy than the others, although there was one exception; a great bejewelled necklace in an ornate box she was holding up. 

"Why have you set this one aside? It is nearly as glittering as the headdress." 

"There was a letter with it. They acknowledged that they didn't know me well enough to judge a gift properly, so knowing that, had carefully chosen the necklace for the ease in which I would be able to sell it. It showed a thoughtfulness I appreciated." 

He watched the surprise meld into warmth at the explanation, setting the box back on the table, picking up a book that sat near it, the warmth in her expression turning into a smile. The book was a large one, finely bound with full hand painted colour illustrations on some of the pages. 

"I hardly need to ask who this is from." 

"Does Dr Lecter often give books as gifts then?" 

She smiled, her fingers tracing over the pages, her gaze lingering on one of the illustrations before closing it and looking over to him at the question. 

"No, but there is nothing else here that I can imagine him giving." 

"I like it," he admitted, though considering how unusual the gift was amongst the others might well have swayed him either way. "I intend to make a start on reading it so I have something at least to talk with him about at the Ball on Friday." 

A slight frown showed on her face as she regarded him, concerned perhaps. 

"You spent a fair amount of time with him at the Ball, and while I know some of that was during a time of duress, did you really find conversation with him that difficult?" 

He let out a breath, looking down into the amber liquid in the glass, tilting it a bit so that it swirled around the bottom. The whole night was a blur to him, barely remembered words to and from many people, scattered images and disjointed conversations. He had been rude, he remembered, though not the words said. He recalled because the relief when an apology had been accepted had stayed with him. There had been talk of playing cards, he remembered vaguely, though that could have been because of Price's comments the day after. Overall, he remembered the silence in the chill air better, how the man had just sat there, not talking, not pressuring him, not sitting closer. Lecter had understood, or at least seemed to understand what he was struggling against. Was that conversation, or merely observation given voice? 

"I don't suppose I had any more difficulty speaking with him than with anyone, less difficulty than most perhaps. He has a clever mind and endeavours to use that complexity with others that I would likely find engaging in times of rest, but during a Ball, I know I struggle. Best to have topics on hand, prepared, than to be caught without and appear wanting." 

"You like him." 

Her voice sounded of fondness and relief, and he wonders how much of that is to do with Lecter being her friend, and how much is about he hope that Will might find anyone he can settle with no matter who it was. It isn't an idle worry, for it is one he has himself thought of often. 

"From what I have seen, yes, but he gives little away as to his personality beyond the controlled exterior." 

"It takes time to know a man like Hannibal, but equally I think you can trust in his patience to know you better as well." 

He made a thoughtful but non-committal noise. To know and be known, it was a dangerous thing when knowing might bring fondness and affection, and he had reason to guard that in himself from others. After all, there was nothing to say that Dr Lecter would find him pleasing past his heat, especially considering the only people that truly knew him to a greater extent was his family, and even they struggled to deal with him these days. 

"I had best get back to the list, so that they can be sent out today." 

He could feel her gaze upon him as he walked back around the table and sat down, letting himself be seen as being busy with the task. He didn't want to talk about the wonderful possibilities of finding a mate, having heard that particular spiel so often now that it seemed like a mockery. Alana, with her sweetness and kind-heartedness would never be able to truly see the situation he found himself in. She relished in the close contact, in surrounding herself with people, and most of all alphas. She might understand on some level the difficulties he faced, but it was all logic, rather than empathy, and while she could sympathise with his position, he knew that she still really believed that he would find someone, and that once he did, his problems would largely melt away. He knew she didn't mean it to be insulting, but when his isolation and bitterness were ripe, he admitted that it did feel that way. A biological magic wand that had clearly worked for her in some respects in making herself a new family. 

Did she realize that her wishes, if true, would render five and twenty years worth of terror and struggle little more than a gossip side-note, and render him into a new person. After all, so very much of his life, his habits, were based around catering to surviving with it. Would there be anything of him left if it suddenly melted away with a mating bond? Who would he be, if that was the case? Not himself, truly, and that was just as scary a thought as continuing to live with it for the rest of his life. 

But more than that, the propensity for people to continue to feed him those words, those hopes and aspirations after eleven years, three and twenty fertile heat cycles in which hundreds of alphas had come to try and win his favour and none had fitted, it just made him angry. He knew they thought of themselves as being kind, of giving him hope, but it was insulting to his intelligence, as if he couldn't understand that odds of him ever finding a mate when so many had failed. He had snapped at a cousin last year when they were visiting and had brought up the topic, and she had not been at all happy with him for his response. She had been shocked and insulted that he would 'take her well-wishing in the worst possible light', and Will had wanted to punch her. Had wanted to punch her more when she told him he was just being too picky. Picky. As if the fact that just being close to alphas made him want to curl up on himself to get away from them, or strike them to make the situation go away. 

"Will, you know you can talk to me, don't you? If something is bothering you?" 

He didn't look up from the letter he was wording, just gave a vague sound of affirmation. He could talk to her, but it would do no good. The fact that she let Jack dictate more how he was treated lately only proved that at some point over the years they had taken divergent paths, no matter that he desperately wished they hadn't. He would have spoken to her once, told her his worries, his frustrations and concerns and know himself to have been listened to and his feelings and situation understood. Not so now. 

He focused on the letter, taking care with each letter and word, ensuring that it was as well-written and precise as the others. He could at least give the alphas that much respect and care for their gifts, aware of Alana moving off in the background while the words glided from his pen onto the paper. Time stretched and the stack of letters and lists in the ledger grew. Hettie brought him some food that sat on the side table, forgotten. The decanter slowly emptied. 

\-- 

Within the house, the study was the one room outside of his apartment that he loved the most. It had a magic to it almost, the dim lighting and how the stray sunlight made the air seem thick with dust motes that hung in the air as if suspended in honey. Time seemed not to have as much hold, no matter the slow tick of the clock that for all it's steady pace almost added to the feeling of otherness, suspended time and place. The room was unapologetically dedicated to books and study, rather than people, and for that he cherished it. There was no intrinsic demand in this room that any conversation with others was the norm, that how he looked would be under scrutiny. No, if anything the room frowned upon words and gaiety, the knowledge-laiden walls condemning anything but the silent delving into others' thoughts within pages, or the gentle scratch of pen on paper. 

Although he could not escape the occasional visit from family, the room itself gave him a reason for solitude that was deemed acceptable. Much of his writing for the newspaper and lectures was done here, as well as reading on what others said on similar subjects. Jack, in particular seemed to be fine with leaving him alone here, while if he had done the same things in another room he would inevitably have been interrupted. 

For now he was sitting in one of the two long leather sofas, his feet propped up on a stool, a couple of cushions either side, and a dog in front of the fire. He let his fingers trace over the book he was holding, feeling the engraving on the leather cover under his fingertips, and wondered if Dr Lecter had done the same. 

He had been reading 'The Marvels of European Travel' on and off for the last two days, both as a distraction from the preparations and pressures of the upcoming ball on Friday, but also to see what it was that had made this particular book the gift that was chosen. He remembered feeling that there was more than merely surface thoughts to the man, each word and gesture controlled and chosen for a reason. Little, if anything, would be left to chance. But was the thought behind the book merely an escape? It could be seen as in intimation of a love of travel, for Lecter did come from abroad, and it could be as simple as that, wrapped up in such a fine and undoubtedly rare and valuable edition. And yet reading it, there was something about the writing that was just slightly unnerving, that didn't sit right with the overall feel of the text. 

For the most part, the book was a documentation of the experiences of the author while travelling, the sights he had seen, notes on the beauty and architecture, small moments captured in words that might detail a scene he came across or a notation on a snippet of history that was related. It read like he was talking to the reader, fond and informative, creative and sometimes even touching on the romantic in how certain things were written and what was chosen to be noticed. And yet... and yet sometimes there would be a comment made, something small, something easily ignored but that just didn't fit the persona being put across. They were sometimes disparaging, or frustrated. Small glimpses, even just the choice of one word over another, that showed a crack in the persona being portrayed. 

Although the details of the travels were interesting, it was these small fractures in the dialogue that kept Will's attention far more. For instance, here in the discourse on Florence, something that had primarily been on the romantic notions, the socially extravagant lifestyles that led the reader to delight in these same things, a comment, a brief note on a former Grand Duke of Tuscany, Francesco I de' Medici, and how he and his mate, a former mistress during his previous mating, had likely been poisoned to death by his brother who inherited the position after him. It was another historical note, one of many that punctuated the book, and not mentioned again as the previous rendition of the town continued as if it had not been said. The text continued, seeming to venerate this more fluid and free lifestyle that cast aside some of the more rigid structures that were more common, and yet for Will, it was like that one sentence was a warning. 

Would many people even pay it notice, or would they dismiss it as perhaps, while interesting, ultimately ignored for the wish of adventure and escape that the rest of the text offered? It perplexed him. A reader can, and should, read what they wished to read, and so it should not matter what they took from it, and yet with how the book was written as if being spoken to in person, it left him unable to set such thoughts aside. What game was the author playing? The impression of a genteel, friendly acquaintance was how he was truly, or perhaps even that was merely a façade that fooled those readers into his world. How much of what he offered was how he truly saw things, and how much seemed almost like a test, and if it was a test, how could any author judge the outcome? 

Will closed the book again after leaving the finely woven marker in place. Such ruminations would have to wait a while longer, for he could already hear the distinctive footsteps of his mother coming to get him to help with the preparations today. Perhaps if he was lucky, she would task him with writing up the requests to merchants, or scribe the dance cards for people, because at least then he would have reason to stay in the study for the remainder of the day. He glanced down at the book, and wondered, not for the first time, if Lecter had noticed the same thing he had, and what he made of it. Something he could perhaps ask him at the ball. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up. I write a chapter ahead to give my beta-readers a chance to check over them and to make any changes. I ended up having to cut about 1/3 of this chapter out and move it to a later chapter, and then re-write something to take it's place. Then I got hit with a major bout of depression, so fun times. Hopefully there should not be so much of a delay between chapters in future.


	3. Absences and Introductions

"So, I heard it was the bi-annual, alpha-strutting parade again. So, of course I couldn't resist coming to watch. I hold out a fervent hope for a good deal of the ridiculous from them this year, although I am not sure we can top the man caught humping the pillar last spring." 

Beverly had turned up at the house less than an hour ago and now sat on his bed, half sprawled, her large skirt kicked out as she let her feet relax from the likely uncomfortable yet highly fashionable shoes she had on. His relationship with her was a strange one, for although she was family only by the fact that she was the mate of Alana's cousin, she was far more like an older sibling to him than any he actually possessed. Which of course was none, since all his siblings were younger, and vastly annoying. That wasn't to say that Beverly wasn't annoying, because she could be, and often was, but there was a sort of devil-may-care about her attitude at times that he found refreshing, especially since it was often used against the unspoken societal rules that seemed to strangle him at times. 

"The man was drunk. It was probably more just a lack of balance." 

"Not with the erection he was grinding against the marble. Give it up, you aren't even convincing yourself." 

He made a non-committal noise and pulled on his other boot. He remembered what he saw, but he didn't want to think about it. It was pointless to hope that no one else had seen the man, for it would be mortifying both socially and personally to have lost so much control as to do such a thing in public view. He hadn't known the man, and the fact that he had not seen him at any of the balls since then only confirmed the social exclusion he had suffered afterwards. 

"Stop being so serious about all this. The balls are meant to be entertainment. Where are your pocket squares?" 

She had hopped up from the bed and walked over to where he gestured. It was pointless to try and stop her, and that was part of her charm, but only because he knew she wouldn't push him too far. For all her chatter and pushiness, her clever mind was always active, usually more than those around her. She looked through the drawer of handkerchiefs and after a critical glance to the suit he had on, navy, but with a shimmer of ocean blue through the threads, and picked out one to match that shimmer, glancing up when Price came in. 

"Ah, right on time. I was wondering where you had gotten to. I hear you are Will's shadow these days, which is good, because he needs one in this madhouse." 

Price looked both amused but also just a little bit trapped as she stalked over to him. Beverly had that effect on people. He tried to ignore how she murmured quietly to Price, her words unheard to him at least, but he could feel his gaze like a pressure in the back of his mind, smelling the protective scent coming from him raise in the room and trying not to think about what she was doing while he finished lacing his boot. 

"There now, stand still so I can tuck this in." 

He startled at her voice, closer than he would have liked, but did as he was told, appreciative of how she didn't try to touch him without making sure he was aware of it first. She did that sometimes, when they were around the house, casual gestures that challenged him not to strike out, practice if nothing else. But she didn't do that today, merely waited for him to straighten up before tucking the handkerchief into his upper pocket, tweaking it until it sat nicely. The scents from it were clear to him, of both Price's protectiveness as well as her own scent, neither over-marking each other, having likely been pressed on different corners, but mingling to a reminder of support and family that he could carry with him. 

It was such a simple thing, he thought as he watched Price fiddle with his shirt to cover his neck gland again, and if it had been others in the family he might not have been as willing to accept it, but the scents didn't fill him with irritation at their proximity, and he knew that as the evening progressed this small reminder of care would help him where touch and proximity would not. 

"Right then! We are all looking fabulous, so let's head down and get this party started!" 

He wasn't ready to go downstairs for that, would never be ready if he was truthful with himself, but for all that she was pushy and demanding in her own way, he didn't doubt she would act outside of social niceties if she felt he needed more protection. 

"Beverly," he said, making sure he had her attention from across the room at the door, "If Mr Froideveaux has managed to get invited again tonight, don't let him touch me." 

"Sure, I can do that. I don't know why you still allow him any attention though. The man is an imbecile." 

"He's not a bad person, Beverly. He doesn't deserve to be locked out from events where he might find someone better suited to his happiness." 

"You and your bleeding heart," she said fondly, "Very well, I'll try not to entirely shred him if he turns up. Now come on, I heard that the Boland's snooty little omega had something special made to wear tonight, and I want a good view when they get here. Heaven knows what monstrosity it will be this time, and I am eager for amusement." 

So it was that Will let himself be guided out of the room far earlier than he would have liked, Beverly chatting to him the entire time, fairly needless talk about things he knew he wasn't required to heed other than to use the reassurance of her place beside him as they made their way downstairs. 

"...and then she had the audacity to try and make out like she hadn't been attempting to outdo her by making the haberdasher set aside a full box of crystals to add on. Aside from the fact that it was about as subtle as a slap in the face, she didn't seem to grasp that adding such embellishments to that material will just make it seem gaudy and tasteless. Speaking off... Ah, Mrs Boland, it has been so long, and you brought your daughter as well. What an astounding dress. I imagine you will turn a great many heads tonight. Alas I cannot linger, we are due to meet with my cousin, and I shouldn’t keep her waiting. I hope you both have a wonderful evening." 

They moved off quickly, Will surprised that it was deeper into the house, to the farthest room, rather than the ballroom, having to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. Beverly stepped into the room, quickly closing the door behind them, with a terse movement before bursting into a flood of almost hysterical laughter. 

"Tell me you both saw that," she said when she had managed to sufficiently calm herself enough to speak. 

"It did seem a bit overdone," Price said, his voice couched in amusement, "I would hazard a guess at two boxes though." 

This only brought out another peal of laughter, until she was clutching her side. Will allowed himself to relax enough to smile at her. He didn't see Beverly very often, and it was good to have her in such good spirits, her scent changing to something almost citrus in her gaiety. In truth he hadn't really noticed what was so terribly wrong with the dress, having long since come to terms with the bafflement of what others liked and expected omegas to wear. One gaudy dress looked much like another to him, and was pleased enough to leave the details of his own clothing to his family and their excellent tailor, Mr Baines. 

"Considering some of the gifts I got last weekend, it wouldn't surprise me if she found someone," he said as she tried to settle herself enough that they could return to the ball, "Remind me to show you the headdress later." 

"Good grief, I hope not! Can you imagine what sort of mating gown she would wear? And I would have to sit through the entire reception and not let out even a chuckle. No. I refuse to think on it!" 

"Perhaps you could invest in the haberdashers, or the company that supply the crystals. That way when they have children you would be rich." 

"Will!" He grinned at her. "Just for that, I'm going to make you dance the last dance with me, you cruel man. I was going to maybe let you off before, but no more!" 

"If I can, I will." 

He knew she would be missing out on the dancing tonight, something she loved, in order to chaperone him. It was only fair he at least attempt it. He remembered watching her and Anabelle at the charity spring ball two years ago, the sparkle in her eyes as she spun and leapt to the music with all the exuberance she was known for. Most of the omegas at that ball had their gazes upon her that evening, but Beverly only had eyes for Anabelle, and it showed. Unsurprisingly, they were mated a few weeks later at Anaballe's heat. 

"Where is Anabelle tonight anyway? She isn't ill I hope?" 

"Nothing like that. She just didn't feel much like stepping out so soon after our journey back from seeing her parents. I left her curled up with our new second reading to her. He needed more time with her alone, so I don't feel too guilty. Come on, lets go find Alana." 

The next hour became a blur of faces, names and scents that were just as overwhelming as before, but with Beverly there, it seemed less, due to her bright conversation that left less pressure on him. As much as he would have liked to have retreated before now, he was aware that this was his last main chance to meet someone for his heat, and to do that he had to be introduced first. So he stayed, although his attempts at conversation became less adept in time, it still seemed to serve the purpose. 

"Time for a break, I think," Beverly said, guiding him through the crowds, Price at his back as she manoeuvred him out of the ballroom. Amazingly they managed to only get stopped once before she was unlocking one of the small sitting room doors, ushering him inside. He glanced back quizzically to Price who stayed at the door, watching him shift just outside it, his stance clearly stating he was guarding. The door remained open, the subdued noise of the ball still there, still very present. Private, yet not. 

"Come, sit." 

She was already there, seated beside the small table that held some drinks and small snacks that she had revealed from under the domed lid of the platter, an appreciative sound as she popped one in her mouth. Such a clever woman, clearly having organized this, but in such a way as to be done by the family, so he wouldn't have cause to react against it. Not that he would have, necessarily, since she was family, but she was clearly taking no chances. She might be mated, but she was still an alpha, still wanted to see to his needs. Sitting, he picked up a glass, choosing his own, providing for himself, but truly, both knew it was from her, and were okay with that. 

She was talking again, chatting about this or that, knowing in all likelihood that he wasn't following. It was freeing, not having to struggle, just to let the fact that nothing was untoward, knowing to that Price wasn't going to let anyone past him into the room to disturb them. He could scent them both, the real and the planted scents on his pocket square that mingled with the room around him, of the soft giving of the seat below him, the slightly dusty scent given off by the fabrics that would always linger due to age, the beeswax from the lights and the polish. Home. 

"He wasn't wearing a mating ring," he said, not having even considered the words before they were uttered in response to something she was saying. "Perhaps he is here to find more than a second tonight." 

The omega in discussion was from one of the other high-standing houses, and although rivalling Will's age, had only taken one alpha until now. 

"Interesting," she said, and he could feel her sharpened gaze upon him, "So you are back with me now? Good. Price, stop loitering and come in. Lock the door behind you." 

Will watched this, still a little befuddled and wary. No matter his trust or fondness for her, it was always better to be wary of her plans. 

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Will. You will be wanting to wash and change before we go back out. The betas have just finished filling the bath on the next room for you. Off you go." 

That was, unexpected. It made him uneasy to bathe down here, so close to the breach of the home by the guests, but he knew better than to argue. He was at least thankful that she had worked this into whatever plans she had made for the evening. 

Setting his glass down, empty, so he must at least have drunk it during his time here, he made his way through to the next room, not bothering to close the door, such a thing would not stop her. 

"Why do you even care why he is here tonight? I thought you dismissed him as uninteresting years ago?" 

A quick look around the room picked out the changes, the bath and privacy screens being the most obvious, as well as the carefully hung clothing, towels and the discreet jar of ointment next to the chair. 

"He is," came her reply, carrying easily through the open doorway, "but I live in hope he might eventually do something worth discussing. he really should try to be a little less bland." 

He smiled a little, stepping behind a screen to start disrobing. 

"Not everyone wishes to be the centre of attention, Beverly, you know that. Especially considering who you are escorting tonight." 

"True, but it's like he does want it, but is purposefully not acting that way. I wonder if it's to do with his first alpha. Jealousy perhaps." 

He made a non-committal sound, not wanting to fan the flames of her hunger for gossip. 

"Oh don't be so concerned, I was just wondering. But since we are on the subject, what about your own conquests? I heard that you made quite the impression on Dr Lecter last week. An interesting man. I like him. We met when I was in medical training. The man is a genius when it comes to the knife, and he isn't bad to look at either. I approve." 

"Not the sort of impression I would have wanted to make though. Barely able to think for the first half of the evening, and then a pinch away from a fully attack of acute nerves for the second. Considering that I haven't seen him around at all so far this evening, I suspect the impression I left him with was less than favourable." 

He had been trying not to think of that fact, or how it left him feeling discontent, even uneasy by the absence. It was almost unheard of for an accepted suitor to neglect to meet when given the opportunity. His thoughts were interrupted by Price clearing his throat a little. 

"Ah, well a note came earlier. Some work has called him away unexpectedly tonight, and he was unable to make it to the ball after all. He sent a message with his regrets." 

His thoughts took a turn towards the morose at this confirmation. He actually hadn't initially expected that rejection. Dr Lecter knew Alana well, considered her a friend, so he had expected him to go through with the courtship at least until after the next stage, or even go through the heat with him. If he were honest with himself, he had been intrigued by the man, interested even. But the cancellation was such that it made it very clear that he wouldn't be perusing the suit. Considering what a mess he had been at the end of that night, he didn't blame the man. But he had thought there had still been interest there. Perhaps not. It was so difficult to judge with subtle interactions, and the harsh light of day can inevitably realign decisions. 

"Disappointing," he said, "but not unexpected." 

"When did the message come?" 

"About an hour ago. Jacob told me." 

"That's pretty rude, to leave sending regrets so late. Do you hear that, Will? Don't give up on the doctor just yet. If he didn't give the customary day's notice, it's likely that he is actually unable to come. He abhors rudeness." 

He did recall that, but truly, the most likely situation was that he was merely returning the rudeness he had clearly received last weekend by Will. He had thought he had been forgiven, but this seemed too aligned with his own thoughts on the matter to be so easily dismissed. 

"Perhaps," was all he said, clearly not convinced, but not wanting to argue over it either. 

"I'm sure of it. Now come on, I'm not hearing enough sounds of washing, and I want to head back out there for some cards. You remember how to play, right? We will find a table in a quiet corner." 

Considering that playing cards with her would not be nearly so onerous as many activities she could have planned, he found himself grateful, and renewed his actions. 

"You know I am terrible at most of them." 

"Don't be a spoilsport. We can stick to Trumps or Speculation if you really want." 

He did, and said so. 

"Good! That's settled then. If you can beat me more times than not, I will allow you to teach me how to fish, even though it will likely kill me from boredom." 

"And if you win?" 

"If I win, well, let's just say I have some fun plans that you will go along with tonight without complaint. Nothing terrible, but I do want some amusement after all." 

He groaned, already knowing his chances of success were limited, but at the same time, while the thought of what sorts of things would be considered entertainment to her, he trusted her not to go too far, not if he said something. 

"I don't want people shamed, Beverly." 

"You worry too much. Get dressed. You never know, you might win." 

* * *

He didn't win. 

Not that this came as much of a surprise to anyone, but what was a surprise was that it was the middle of the evening and he was still there. Still in the thick of the ball and coping. I mean, he wasn't coping well, but he was coping just enough to be there. 

Part of this had to do with how things had been set up, with their table near the edge of the room, with him by the wall. Usually he would have found himself feeling trapped, but with Beverly on one side and Price on the other, it meant that no one could come very close. No accidental or purposeful touching, no suggestive murmuring in his ear, and best of all, really only those currently in the card game could really attempt conversation with him, and Beverly was boisterous enough to deflect much of that. 

Aside from the three of them, there were two others, both alphas, that he had been introduced to earlier. One, a Mr Perrin of decent decent, sizeable income but a sad lack of intelligence, while the other, Mr Watters, a polite male of mediocre social standing and income, but one who was very careful with his assumptions and attitude, perhaps due to that very same social standing, not wishing to worsen it by unintentional insult. Conversation thus far had been more than a little stilted, and they were forced to rely on Mr Perrin for the majority if for no other reason than his ardent wish to talk, and needing no input from others to continue to do so. 

So it was with mixed feelings that he spotted Jack making his way towards their table. 

He hadn't known what to expect, but as Jack saw them and started to make his way over, the brief glances he managed to take from the card game seemed to suggest that Jack was not displeased with him. If anything he looked ever so slightly smug, but certainly pleased. It should have put him at ease, but he had lived in the household long enough with the man to know that whatever it was, it was unlikely he would enjoy what was coming. Jack never sought him out unless he wanted something from him, and so perhaps it was not unreasonable that he started to feel a little trapped, especially when it became apparent that Jack was not alone. 

Will surreptitiously watched as the two men made their way through the room, and it was clear even from this distance that Jack was very well pleased. It didn't take much detective work to understand why when they crowd parted before them without word nor effort. Jack usually had such an effect , but not to this extent, where people were stepping aside from over three meters away from the route they were taking. Whomever this was, they were a powerful alpha, someone with enough personal aura to direct those in a room without noticeable effort. This didn't feel, as they came closer and that power's presence started to brush up against him, like it was a show. No, this was not forced as some might do for attention, but seemed unconscious, a state perpetual to the man, and from the military attire, it was simple enough to explain why he was not used to making more effort to contain it. 

As those in the room parted, their table got an exceedingly good look at the pair. The man at Jack's side drew the covetous gazes of omegas and betas alike, and Will was not as immune to this effect as usual. By the smug smile on Jack's face, he knew it to. It wasn't even like this new man was particularly handsome. Not that he was ugly, per say, but with a square jaw, narrow eyes and a nose that had been broken enough in the past that it sat a little deeper in the face, the overall look was more of sturdy than appealing. The black hair was well-trimmed, but he was also sporting the long bushy sideburns that were favoured in the military, but did little to add to his appeal. 

However, he understood now why Jack was not here with Alana, for usually the man would never leave her side at an event like this. But with this man's aura effortlessly turning the heads of those in the room, he could see why Jack would not wish Alana anywhere near him. Usually such a traditionally alpha presence was not Will's thing either, but he could not dismiss this newcomer from his attention. Usually to, such a pressure would irritate him, but likewise the fact that this was also unconscious spill seemed to have the opposite effect. It sent a slight shiver through him, and no matter that he attempted to focus on the cards despite the imminent interruption, his instincts were too busy drooling over the possibilities of such a man. He attempted to focus on his cards again, which, true to form, were just as divested of luck as he was right now. 

Disgusted by his biology's sudden need to preen for this new alpha, he instead put his cards down and settled on looking over, intent on being displeased with Jack. But it was hard being actively displeased with the touch of that power making his breath come a little unsteady and the inundation of the sudden influx of concerns over his own appearance and worries over the incoming introduction. It had suddenly become very important to his hind-brain that he looked good in his own suit to impress this stranger. 

As they came to a stop beside the table, it also became difficult to think with the scent of the man, so close as it was. Will could no more spare Jack his attention now, not with this man so near. It was like all his braincells had cut out and realigned until only this man's attention mattered. This man, his biology told him, this man could keep him safe. 

He had to make a conscious effort not to breathe through his nose, not only to avoid the new alpha's scent, but also knowing that it wouldn't be a good idea to take any reassurance from the on his pocket square, since it would swiftly be proven inadequate. Neither people whose scents were on it could protect him from whatever Jack had planned, though that plan wasn't exactly difficult to work out. Instead, he let the now familiar drone of Mr Perrin distract his thoughts for the brief few moments before the direct interruption would happen. 

"So of course I told the cheeky blighter that it was unacceptable to wait. Can you believe the gall of the man? As if I would be content to delay the trip merely because of his inadequate staffing issues. Preposterous! Oh, Mr Crawford, I didn't see you there. Will you be joining us for cards?" 

"No, not tonight. I am merely here to introduce Lieutenant Anderson, who was eager to try his hand. Lieutenant, this is my mate's son, Mr Graham, Mr Price and Ms Katz of our family, and Mr Perrin and Mr Watters." 

"Do you play cards much then Lieutenant? We should find you another seat." 

"That won't be necessary," Jack replied, "Mr Price, our mate requires your attention." 

Will could only watch as Jack ignored and trampled over the precariously balanced control he had of the evening. He was left under no illusions as to the situation, nor Jack's unstated demands of it. This alpha, Lieutenant Anderson, was Jack's choice for his heat, a Navy man of rank, affluent, his attire donned with gold brocade and epaulettes showing his status. That he then sent Price away in order to give the man a a seat, something that not only wasn't invited, but also stripped him of one of his two guardians, the careful security against proximity, left everyone at the table aware of it. 

"Well, I won't keep you from your game," Jack said far more smug than before as the Lieutenant seated himself, as if Jack had achieved a victory worth savouring. Will, not given to easy conversation at the best of times, could only sit in silence as Beverly dealt the man some cards, and Mr Perrin took up the chatter once more. 

"Well! That was a surprising turn of events, but I dare say the family knows best. Don't fret your heart, Mr Graham, for I will be content to stand aside. There was a lovely little filly in an adorable pink dress I saw earlier that will do well enough for me. So tell me Lieutenant, have you just recently come to town? I wasn't aware of any troops returning until next month." 

As much as it had been a relief not to have to hold conversation, especially after such a shock-inducing event, the way in which it was expressed was both insulting and vaguely mortifying. As if Will had been swooning over this buffoon, but also the clear insinuation that he would automatically choose someone that his family had picked out over others. He was sure that the flush of anger was likely taken for embarrassment. He sorely hoped that Beverly appreciated this entertainment, and a quick glance to her seemed to suggest she was undecided as to whether to shred the man or merely laugh, but was attempting to do neither. 

"Our ship, the HMS Viviana, docked only yesterday, and I arrived back in town this evening. I hope you will forgive it, Mr Graham, but I could not lightly pass up the chance to attend, even if doing so meant my stepping in, in such a tardy lateness." 

He made himself look up at the man, taking in the attentive look granted to him. He seemed to have taken care to dress and appear his best despite him being late, though that could be down to any betas or servants he had in his home and might mean little other than their skill. The uniform was well taken care of, though again, that was not unexpected, especially since this was a dress uniform, and so unlikely to have too much wear-and tear. Still, the way he held himself told Will more, paying little mind to the others at the table, at least until he had a response from Will. So, either he didn't really care for what they thought, or he cared more for what Will thought, which was not unexpected, but at least heartening since it meant that he didn't take the same assumptions as Mr Perrin had, that Jack's good opinion would automatically get him where he clearly wanted to be. 

"I cannot hold you responsible for the tides, Lieutenant Anderson." 

"Which only leaves me to wonder what you will hold me responsible for, Mr Graham. It has been quite some time since I was in the thick of society. Live aboard a ship is in many ways a great deal more simple than navigating the myriad of unspoken rules in a place like this." 

Will glanced down to his cards, not wishing to see more of the calm earnestness in the man's otherwise slightly harsh-looking face. He could sympathize with the notion of feeling out of his depth in a place like this, even if it was merely in words, not in truth. For all that the man intimated a lack of knowledge or familiarity with his current situation, there was a calm assurance despite that which spoke of the fact that while he might worry, the likelihood was that he was far more aware and knowledgeable than he portrayed. A different tactic altogether than Mr Watters who had become silent except to ask for cards during the game. 

"We have only just met, Lieutenant Anderson. There has been little opportunity so far to gauge much on which to base any opinion." 

"A situation that I hope might be remedied soon. Ah, my draw it seems." 

They played onwards, but the conversation, which had always been a little one-sided, was now far more stilted with the surprise addition to their party. It wasn't so much that the man was unwelcome, as it was that he was new, but also his presence seemed to have cowed the other alphas at the table. Even Beverly, for all her chatty nature, seemed to flounder a little, though between her and Mr Perrin, managed amicably. For his part, Will found that whatever skill he had previously managed to possess at the game only decreased as his pre-occupation with the man continued. For all that he had hoped one day to be swayed towards an alpha, such as he was feeling now, it did little to make him appear worth whatever attention he received, such was his inability to think through polite conversation. 

In the end they played a couple more hands that ensured a level of attempt not to be utterly insulting to Lieutenant Anderson's presence, before mutually deciding that perhaps the appeal of cards had waned, and some other diversion should be sought. Price had returned to stand by Will, and none were displeased when Mr Perrin excused himself, and while Mr Watters was polite enough company, Will did not attempt too hard to dissuade him from also seeking respite elsewhere. It seemed cruel to keep the man with them when he stood little chance as Will's mate, and perhaps he might find someone more suiting elsewhere tonight. 

He lingered there, gathering his thoughts after the two had left, Price a silent reassurance nearby, and Beverly having nipped off to briefly speak to a cousin of hers, Mr Rowan that she had spotted. He swept a hand over the tabletop, brushing away a couple of crumbs from a pastry that Mr Perrin had been eating. It was a lovely table, the deep mahogany polished to a shine, but by the pattern he knew, if he had looked underneath, there would be a couple of deep scratches on the underside of it, an enduring reminder of time as a youth when it hadn't been a table at all, but caves with blankets for walls, and cushions as barricades. Standing, he shuffled the cards, as much as for something to do with his hands as it was to help get the table set up and ready for the next players. Something to focus on other than the presence of the alpha beside him, to whom he had no idea what to say that didn't have the potential to come out odd or insulting. 

"Mr Graham," the voice at his side, that of Lieutenant Anderson was close, but not unbearably so, set at a pitch low enough not to carry past them, as private as could reliably be called such in a place like this. "No matter what assumptions the head of your family may have as to my presence here, I would not see you made uncomfortable by it. If my attentions here are unwelcome, I would prefer knowing directly." 

Will shifted from one foot to the other, made more keenly aware of his lack of respectable behaviour in public and the likely length of the silence if this was what was asked. He should be being more attentive at least to pick up on it before now. 

"I am... not easy in society," he said at last. It was an understatement of course, but he could feel that gaze upon him even as his own was watching Beverly laugh at something said to her. "Or people," he added, casting his gaze down and away, taking in the scent from his pocket square in the action. "Your presence is not unwelcome, Lieutenant, but the night wears on me." 

"Is there nothing that might be done to ease you?" 

"Nothing that is not already being done, or to leave, which is ill-advised for a peaceful life." 

He could see the incline of the man's head in response from the corner of his gaze, though whether he agreed or not, or merely acknowledging the statement he couldn't tell without looking closer. All that mattered at the moment was that no further questions were pressed upon him, nor gestures instigated that would result in the opposite effect than intended. No, the man let him be for the moment, turning instead to Beverly as she returned to their side. 

"Ms Katz, you appear quite delighted with yourself, should we be worried?" 

"Hah! We have only just met, and you seem to be a good judge of people after all. Of course you should be worried!" She laughs, delighted that someone new would play her games. "The evening can get so unbearably dull, as I was just saying to Mr Rowan, and we decided to liven things up a bit." 

"Ms Katz." 

The name was made in such a tone by Will that contained both a fond exasperation as well as worried caution, the latter of which something that Will had quickly learned to hold close with her. 

"Now, now, remember our bet. Come on, it'll be fun. You don't even need to participate, just judge." 

He sighed, knowing her tone enough to understand that outside of a critical circumstance, he was not going to be able to escape this. 

"And just what am I to judge?" 

"Skill of course," she said as they made their way through the crowd towards the back of the room, closer, he noticed, to a door that would lead deeper into the house away from the ball and it's people if needed. It made him a little easier about whatever she had planned. Not much, but a little. 

"Not Puff-a-dart. I'd rather not have to explain why furniture or guests became injured." 

"What about the Bridge of Sighs? I am sure many would elect for that." 

Will looked over to the man approaching whose voice had cut in, Mr Rowan, a cheerful fellow, playful but loyal. 

"Certainly not!" she interjected, "Shame on you for suggesting it. Suitors have to work for that privilege after all." She grinned at Will, who was very much wishing he was elsewhere. It was never safe when she had that look in her eye. "Lieutenant Anderson, my cousin Mr Rowan." 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." 

"And I suppose you will say no to Bullet in the Pudding as well. Hrm, Will?" 

"Perhaps something less likely to cause harm or embarrassment." 

"How about a recitation. People could play the part in a scene and we get to judge the victor." 

"An excellent notion! Allow me to go and find the lovely Miss Harrop, she won't want to miss this!" 

Will could only watch as the situation progressed with an inevitability of which he had little wish to oversee. He stood with the largely silent Lieutenant, and the equally silent Price while Beverly and those she knew went about with enthusiasm for such an interesting diversion. A couple of books were brought through from the Library to read from, and much was made of what would be better to use, and what rules should be made. 

"No, no, I can't possibly have you judging Ms Katz, for you would be unduly influenced by my good looks, and it isn't your delightful company I am hankering for. Let the fairer gender be the judge." 

"So you can let your good looks unduly influence Miss Harrop instead?" 

"Exactly!" 

There was general amusement, and if nothing else, Will was pleased to be left out of the discussion by those who were far more engaged by it. Although he had managed remarkably well this evening, he was fast approaching the stage where escape was the only thought on his mind. He could think little of the entertainment, and certainly not having to pay attention to the acting skills of those involved, and the various unstated reasoning behind them. 

Price shifted a little at his side, stepping a touch closer, though not enough to brush up against him, for which he was grateful. 

"One round?" 

The question was asked quietly, and Will nodded, finding his words were curtailed more than he would like. One round was about as much as could deal with. In truth he wanted to be gone from here already, but he had to hand it to Beverly that this was a decent way of getting alphas involved in something that required very little of his active participation. He let his gaze drift over those here, not really with them, not really there, but the illusion was enough to let it slip by mainly unnoticed. He smiled a little when it seemed to be appropriate and Beverly and Mr Rowan diverted attention to themselves wherever possible. 

"Mr Graham, might a drink help?" 

The words were stated in a low murmur to his right from the Lieutenant, and it took him a moment to let that question filter through, and the fact that yes, an answer would likely be required. A drink. He had thought perhaps it could be given as a reward for whomever won the round, but that would require him to linger to drink it, and he had no intention of doing so. 

"That would be good, thank you, Lieutenant." 

Perhaps the taste would help bring him back a little more to the present. However as the man moved off, the space that was left, unfilled and open. He hadn't been aware, until that moment, of how he had unconsciously become acclimatized to and started to rely on that steady presence as he did on those of the family, a barrier against the press of the room. It started like a tightening in his chest, the feeling of everything being too close, too loud, too much. He focused on his breathing, measuring each breath, his hands held behind him to hide their now more obvious shaking. Turning his head, he drew in the lingering scents from the pocket square with each breath, but it wasn't enough, and certainly not without Beverly beside him. Even if he had been able to get his voice to work, it was better she stay where she was, diverting attention, rather than coming over to him and only focusing eyes more on him. He didn't want their gazes, their questions. 

Movement at his side, his gaze moving too quickly to Price, and some of his panic must surely be showing, for there was a seat there, the man shifting how he was standing just enough to try and block out much of the room from him. He cast his gaze down as he took a seat, resting his hands on his lap, trying not to show whitened knuckles that would inevitably invite query. But even so, his breathing became slightly easier as he felt that aura return and draw close, the broad form shadowing him. 

"I didn't know which you would prefer, so I got a fruit juice and a cocktail." 

The glasses were offered towards him and after a moment in which he managed to unclasp his hands, he reached up for the cocktail. Usually he would avoid alcohol when in public, but right now he needed it's sweet burn to steady him. He inclined his head in thanks, unable to formulate his words. No one else saw how badly his hand shook when he reached for the drink, but he could feel the Lieutenant's attention upon him like a mountain. 

The bright voice of Beverly interrupted, causing the attention to turn, at least partially, from him. 

"We chose 'The Flight of Baron Maruut'. Come, Lieutenant, you are game of course?" 

"Of course." 

The acquiescence was polite and sure, as if there was never any other answer he would rather give. Not that it was particularly effusive, but then so far little about him had been, other than his attention upon Will. 

Their little group had grown in number, as Mr Rowan had returned with Miss Harrop and her chaperones Ms Thurston and her beta daughter of whom Mr Rowan was very fond, Ms Bale, a friend of the Ms Thurston, her omega niece and a family friend Mr Weller. Joining them was Mr Hodges, an omega of some note in society and a friend of the Miss Bale, who came with his older alpha brother and beta sister as chaperone as well as an alpha friend of the family Ms Felton. 

Mr Hodges was not a particular friend to Will, but someone in the upper end of society whose presence you didn't go out of your way to provoke. He was, Will thought, content to play the courting balls until someone truly captivated his attention. Being only 19, and of an exceedingly wealthy family, he was in no need to rush such things, especially when it was clear he took great pleasure in the attention courting brought. With a clever, wicked tongue when roused, although friendly enough on the surface, he had about him the playfulness of Beverly but without nearly as much kindness behind it. It would not do to make oneself competition to such a man. Will might have found himself thus if it were not for the fact that he had been courting far before the other omega had started, and although he garnered the most attention due to that, Hodges seemed content to use such a situation merely to gather people without his own effort, and then attempt to lure them to himself. It had always been thus, ever since the man had been presented to society two years ago. Will was useful to Hodges and not primarily a threat, and he was careful not to raise Will's displeasure lest he himself be cast away from such lofty company before he had gained enough status to hold himself up in society. 

"Come now, we have written the names the bag here. Three rounds, come, take your pick." 

Mr Rowan shook the little pouch with the folded paper while each of those participating picked one out. Lieutenant Anderson, Miss Bale and Mr Rowan were to go first. 

"Excellent. Here are your copies. Thank goodness we managed to find two. Let's do the scene where the Baron gets ambushed in the Tavern. Page eighty-six." 

As Lieutenant Anderson stepped away to take his place for the recital, Ms Felton deftly stepped into the vacated place before Beverly could. Her perfume, now liberally spiced with her own scent, pressed too close for comfort. It was a small hope, one that was promptly dashed, that the recital would prove dissuasive to conversation. 

"It is an odd sort of entertainment for a ball, but I dare say it has it's charms," she murmured conspiratorially to him after a minute or so of listening, "After all, put in a different situation, some may prove themselves adaptable, while others... fail." 

She was no doubt referring to the Lieutenant, whose prose was spoken with a staid sort of manner that didn't suit the character he was portraying at all. Will watched for a short time more before answering, "I am an odd person, but it was not my choice. Still, there are a great many things that show a person's character and skills." 

It was easy enough for him to make out how the Lieutenant had angled his body in such a way as to be able to see him from where he was standing, notably distracted by the proximity of Ms Fleton at Will's side. That he was more concerned with Will than the task of impressing others was flattering, and reassuring. 

"I am eager for my own turn, for I spent a great many evenings during my apprenticeship in debating and classical oration. I expect the difference will be clear." 

She had pressed closer, a hand falling on the back of his chair, not going so far as to touch, but her presence, which had started out as vaguely annoying, was swiftly becoming smothering. He didn't doubt that the tenseness of his shoulders was showing at least a little. 

As the short recital came to an end, there was laughter at the comedic prose, and applause. Miss Harrop's laugh was a small, delicate thing, pretty but almost completely lost underneath the more raucous laughter of Mr Weller, whose bearing was keen in drawing the attention of Mr Hodges, despite the fact that Hodges showed no sign of being interested in anyone in their group. Still, Miss Harrop was not so well fortified in position as Will was, and so it was best that the attention was turned from her. Those that might seek the company of Mr Hodges would likely not suit her anyhow. Perhaps she understood this, for she made no attempt to claim attention even from Mr Rowan, with whom she was a close friend. 

Will used the distraction of the recital's end to rise from his chair, doing so in such a way as to put it between himself and Ms Felton. 

"It perhaps already is," he said, offering a quick smile to the Lieutenant as he rejoined them, "However I won't be able to see it. I am feeling over-tired, and intend to retire for the evening." 

He was spared hearing her response by Beverly being suddenly there beside them. 

"Skipping out on me then, Mr Graham? Very well then, I shall have to make do with finding someone else for a dance later. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow at dinner." 

Saying his good-nights, forcing himself to look to the Lieutenant specifically, not wishing him to be left with the impression that he was running away from him. 

As the door closed behind them, as Price and he made their way along the corridor and up the stairs to the family rooms, well-earned relief and exhaustion settled over him. Even Jack couldn't complain that he hadn't done enough tonight. 

"Remind me to invite Miss Hodges over at some point." 

"Sure thing. She seemed a little out of her depth tonight, but Mr Rowan will look out for her, enough to divert Mr Hodges at least." 

Will nodded as he got to his door, offering goodnight to the man. Only when he had locked the door behind him did he hear Price move back down the corridor towards the ball once more, leaving him with too many thoughts and shaking limbs that he had hidden as best as possible. It was done. No more balls that he would have to attend anytime soon, courting balls at least. It would be easier now, he reminded himself as he stripped out of the sweat-soaked shirt, the personal courtship invitations and meetings were not nearly so onerous. But for now, he could forget about it, for a while at least. 

Yet, he couldn't forget, nor would he want to, just how his body had responded to Lieutenant Anderson. He had never responded to an Alpha like that before, for even Dr Lecter's presence, although calming, had been a response to the keen awareness and respect for his space perhaps rather than the presence itself, for as far as he could recall, the man had exuded none except confidence. Anderson's presence was careful, civil, but far more traditional than he would ever have considered responding to before, and it made him wonder, perhaps even worry. Had Jack been right all along? Was this sort of strong presence all that he would respond to? He had never wanted to tie himself to someone like Jack, but what if that was what it took to make him more stable? It was an unsettling idea, but he kept reminding himself that the Lieutenant had not been overbearing in the traditional sense as such, merely... oh who was he kidding? The man was likely to be careful around him at first, that had been clear, but once he became more familiar, would he, much like Jack, merely use that power, that aura to press on him. Worse perhaps the idea that he might actually find his body responding to that. 

It was this latter thought that had him shivering, wiping the cold sweat from his body before downing some laudanum-laced water and changing for bed. What if that was all he had in his future other than staying unmated? How many more years could he truly avoid tying himself to someone if his body decided it wanted this behaviour no matter what his mind said? 

But Lieutenant Anderson seemed a nice man, civil and well mannered. He reminded himself of this. He was, all-in-all, probably a better match than the Doctor had shown himself to be, at least in attendance. And so as he lay down, shivering under blankets, he reminded himself that no matter what alpha he ended up with, if he ended up with one, they would want to see him happy. That was how it worked biologically. They would. 

He closed his eyes, the laudanum starting to work, shifting him away from wakefulness, the memories of the evening blurring until sleep eased into him, the awful tension that had strained muscles loosening, relaxing at least for a while, as unconsciousness stole the waking world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, so glad I made it through this chapter, my brain got stuck on it so bad, but it's here, and it's done! I hope you enjoy.   
> The next chapter may or may not have dogs in it, and perhaps a cannibal if you are lucky ;)  
> Constructive feedback, good and bad, is appreciated.


	4. Letters and Visitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the courting balls, Will reminisces on the events before being unexpectedly surprised by a visitor to dinner that evening.

Heading home from the ball, the air chilled Lieutenant Anderson, but he refused any reprieve that ducking in closer to the large collar of his coat might bring. No, he sat perfectly upright on his horse, gaze coasting around, seeming idly to the near empty streets around. You never could be too careful, especially after dark, though it was more appearances rather than worry that caused such an action in him now. It wouldn't do to be seen as slovenly when out and about, especially in uniform. Standards should always be upheld, setting the proper example. 

The cold seemed to have chased most people indoors, and he didn't blame them for that, especially not with his bones aching from old wounds that would only get worse when the snow actually started with more dedication than the few raindrops seen in the lamplight as he passed. Even the most poor were relatively unseen, likely in one of the many charitable poorhouses across the city. He wondered if Mr Graham would show patronage or even build his own when he found a mate, as so many omegas tended to. Perhaps he already did. He would have to ask his man-about-town to look into such things for him. There was much he didn't know about Mr Graham, infrequent as his own trips ashore to civilization had been in the last couple of years. There was a feeling of something indulgent and satisfied in him at the thought of a mate investing in caring for others, of investing resources in people, rather than baubles as some did. He had no reason to doubt that Mr Graham would want to invest in humanitarian charities, especially considering his past, what little he knew of it anyway. Most of what he did know was general knowledge, and he had been told once that ones that suffer from distress or low moods often have a greater wish to appease it in others. 

His thoughts interrupted by the very welcome sight of his town house, the lamps outside shining brightly out onto the road, guiding him back. He had had the place for just over a year and a half now, though had used it little due to his promotion and related dispatch. He could not see much of it's face, despite the lamps, but it's simple stonework had appealed to him. Some might call it forbidding without the elegant carvings that were more popular, but would Mr Graham? 

Dismounting and handing the reigns to the servant who had hurried down the steps to tend to him, he made his way up and inside, closing and locking the door behind him, knowing the servant would return to the kitchen entrance when he was done. 

Tugging the gloves from his hands absently, he let his gaze linger on the hallway. It had been pleasing to him with it's more modest presentation, interspersed now with things from his travels. A large mirror near the doorway to his left, its frame made from a rich dark wood and carved in geometric patterns that you only really noticed if there was a lamp lit to the side, or the daylight in the morning coming through the long window beside the door. The long rug on the floor was a replacement, locally made, to welcome visitors and hide the initial dirt from boots that didn't quite get cleaned enough on the scraper by the door. A vase on the slender table beneath the mirror holds a discreet arrangement that his housekeeper likes to upkeep, the vase itself a purchase from a market in Cairo that he had found himself lingering over despite not even having had a house at the time. Perhaps, he thinks with some droll amusement as he unbuttons his coat, the vase was the start of the purchase of this house, having needed somewhere to put it. There wasn't too much else on show, and he had never had cause to be concerned with his more modest tastes until now, but after seeing the luxury and extravagance that the Bloom's exhibited, would this place be seen as entirely wanting, or merely the clean start for what was to come of it? 

"Welcome home, Mr Anderson." 

The sound of his housekeeper, Mrs Becket, drew his attention as she bustled in to take his coat. She lived here with her husband and son, paid servants until he had a family. They would likely stay on as a pod afterwards, as they were all betas. In truth, he had no idea if they were good in standard of work to others from upstanding households, but they kept the place clean and his house tended to, saw to the cooking when he was in, the fireplaces lit, and went on errands when he required. That was enough for him, but would his mate think so? There was much he had not paid attention to in his youth. 

"I wasn't sure if you were wanting food, but I kept the stew on the go if you want something hot, or there's some cold ham if not." 

"Some stew and bread would be welcome, Mrs Becket, thank you." 

"Bitterly cold weather, but perhaps the dancing kept you warm?" 

He looked over to her as he undid the buttons on his uniform jacket, amused at her need for gossip. Despite his exhaustion and the lateness of the hour, he found himself more amenable to talking of it than usual. 

"Bring yourself a mug of something warm with my food and I'll tell you of the evening then." 

It warmed him to see the look of youthful excitement on those older features before she headed off quickly to the kitchen. It was rare they had time to talk on anything but household necessities, but he knew she probably got lonely despite her family, especially considering the ill-health of her husband, now bedridden and mostly nonsensical, or perhaps she just delighted in hearing of such extravagances. For the comfort of being able to return home from the chill weather, having a welcome, a fire tended, and hot food ready, he could spare her time for her own pleasure in listening. 

And so they came to sitting room where the fire had kept the room warm, and he spoke of the things he knew she wanted to hear; of the dancing and the attire people wore, of the amusements he had been drawn into and of Mr Graham with whom he had spent most of his time there with. It heartened him that she seemed to approve of the fact that the man did not seem frivolous, despite her fixation on hearing of such things in others, and when she left for her own bed having taken the empty plate and mugs away, he let himself feel a manner of hopefulness for the possibilities the future may hold. 

* * *

__

_London, England, Monday the 7th of October_

_Mr T. Price, Largs, Scotland_

_Dear Tim,_

_Although you bid me write you at midwinter, you will I hope forgive me for doing so sooner. Did you think I would forget your birthday if you diverted in this way, especially when I have your twin living with me? If so, you should know better by now, for I may be forgetful in some respects, but not truly that much._

_Although the time of year is likely poor for fishing, I hope you will none-the-less like and find use for the tackle box. Jimmy helped me pick it out for you, and I made the enclosed lures myself. He bids me send you his best wishes and to eat a slice of pie for him._

_You might be surprised to hear that he has cut back on his drinking lately, although I am somewhat ashamed to say that my own consumption has increased. It's so easy to fall into the habit of reaching for it when other escapes, like fishing, are not readily available._

_It's been exhausting of late, not only because the courting season has once again started, but also because Jack has me helping with those things again that I once spoke to you of. Overall it does a lot of good, but not for my nerves or for pleasant dreams. I felt sure that my mother would put a stop to it, should it show to be affecting me, but other than some general discontent over it, she has said nothing towards forbidding me go. I am not sure what to make of it, for she is aware that it is indeed affecting me, so either she agrees with Jack that it's worth it, or she is allowing me to make my own decision in this case. Of all the things she might use to try and give me more autonomy, I wish it was not this, for I hold little power in the house now. In truth, she is leaning in behaviour far more towards Jack of late that it sometimes feels like I am on my own when going against his wishes, and Jack has a talent for ignoring my discomfort._

_But I don't mean to be morose or worrisome, especially when we hear from each other so infrequently. I should tell you of the courting season so far, for although I have yet to visit any of the alphas for the second step of the courtship, I have seen enough, I think, to give a basic accounting of some of them._

_The most notable so far has been one that Jack introduced, strange as that may seem. A lieutenant of the navy by the name of Anderson. He is socially polite and thoughtful, and so far has not pressured where I would not have liked. There is little enough else I know of the man, much as any, other than he is a strong alpha, noticeably so. I suppose, despite it all, I find that strength reassuring so long as I could trust him. That, I suppose, we shall see in time._

_Then there is a merchant by the name of Mr Cosgrove, an affable man of considerable wealth, but not so high in prestige as others. He had a jovial and relaxed air about him that I liked, and had an interest in curiosities that I found engaging to listen to. There was also a Mr Layton whom I met briefly at the first courting ball, introduced by my mother of course. He comes from a well thought-of family, and is a lawyer by profession. I cannot say I was as enamoured by his conduct as either the jovial nature of Mr Cosgrove, or the stoic solicitousness of Lieutenant Anderson, but sometimes for heats I find a less personable approach makes it easier afterwards when I return home._

_Technically there is also Dr Lecter, a surgeon by profession. He seemed a clever and polite man who shares a close friendship with my mother, but I believe he may have withdrawn his interest, as he was notable absent the night before last, at the second ball. I know you have little interest in the socialites of society here in town, but he aptly compensated for my lack during our time together in a way that made the thing less onerous. I suppose you could say I am overall feeling a disappointment over his non-attendance, though it isn't unexpected considering the attack of nerves I suffered while I was in his presence (one, I should note that was in no way his fault, but that he aided me in recovering from)._

_Aside from them, there are a couple of others I have kept in mind due to the thoughtfulness of their gifts. A Mr Frampton whom I know little about, but seemed eager to defer to my judgement that I found pleasing, and a Mr Till who gave me a bottle of scent that I found pleasing, as few such things do._

_I wish you were here, so we could both laugh at the absurdity of some of the gifts offered. I spent the late morning and afternoon sorting out and cataloguing the gifts from last night and am quite tired of it, though the task itself is easy enough and gives me time alone. I miss your company, for few here think it strange to try and win me with gifts so bedecked in jewels or gold as to be utterly ridiculous. I was considering, this time, investing the money from their sale into some manner of animal rescue center. There is little call for me to save the money, despite how often I am told to do so. This, at least, I can spend however I please._

_Speaking of gifts, there is one more that is worth a mention, although I do not get to know whether to take things further with the alpha that offers it yet, for until I see it, and him, I cannot make much of a decision. The gift, you see, is first choice of a litter of pups he has bred. Wolfhounds by breed, who, I am told, are one of the largest hunting dogs around, but are quite quiet and docile at home. I plan to travel to see them later in the week to choose, and that will make the decision whether to add the man to the next stage of courting or not._

_Considering the age of the pups, I don't doubt he will reap the side-benefit of this further chance to impress me before the next stage of courting commences. It was risky of him, for the lack of immediate gift would be seen by many as bordering on insult, but the gift itself in this way is ingenious. It is no secret that I love dogs, but he is so far the only one that has thought to use that, so I suppose that in itself shows some intelligence, but also a knowledge that the choosing of the pups and potential future visits to see the one chosen will give him more time to try and win me over. I find myself eager to see what to make of the man._

_Outside of the topic of gifts and the varied horrors of being social, things are as busy as ever here. The newspaper keeps hounding me to write more for them, or, depending on the day, to write more of one thing than another, or with more of a slant on this or that. The way they try to direct, they would be as well to write it themselves! I had another package of mail forwarded to me by them for the question and answer section. It always takes so long to get through those, for so many write that I cannot answer them all, for there is neither room in the newspaper, nor time in my life to do so. I do try to read them all, though I am somewhat behind with them right now._

_I have a lecture coming up next week that I am preparing for as well. It is being held at the Foxglove Hall, and while it is important to me, I do wish that it was further away, date-wise, as too much has been happening of late to make my mind more at ease. While the presentation should be fine, I know the subject intimately of course, the questions in its aftermath always make me feel like a man being drilled for condemning. There are some that dislike my theories, mainly as they disprove their own beliefs and see demoting mine as a way of regaining their own superior position. After all, it is easy for people to forget, or not know, that not all omegas are good at debate, which only leads credence to their position when I stumble through answers._

_There isn't much I can do about that of course, except keep what calm I can muster and answer as such. I heard though that one of my main detractors, Dr Chilton, has lately suffered some setbacks in his life, so it is very likely he will take that mood out in my lecture. Again, I just wish it was a little further away from the balls, but apparently this was the only free slot they had that wasn't pre-booked for the next seven months. I have to remind myself again that it is not only I who is busy these days._

_I recall you saying that the Arnotts intended to host a ball this season for their daughter's second heat. If they have done so, I don't doubt you will have had a vast amount more work to do than usual, and less personal necessity to get you through it than myself. Still, look on the bright side, that such events are unlikely to be too common, for I don't doubt the daughter will find a suitable mate, sooner rather than later, and the household will once more lapse into a more sedate pace as to be pleasant. Who knows, by the time the spring thaw comes, she may very well be mated and all you will have to worry about is the vastly complex celebratory banquet!_

_Forgive my teasing. I know it isn't easy, but we do miss you, and missing makes me more eager to be familiar. Perhaps in the spring I will see if Jimmy and myself can be spared for the trip to come visit you, if that is agreeable? I foresee no happy situation of my own that would prevent it, for I have quite given up on that count, and an escape to pleasant company would be welcome._

_Will you be doing anything for the equinox this year? I planned on going with my mother to the Weavers Square Community Hall to help with the children's event there. Not my preferred choice, children have never made me easy, but it was either that or go to something myself, and what with the lecture and balls, I sort of ran out of time to think of something. Not exactly a fine show of my sub-gender's characteristics, I know, and I didn't think that I would be afforded seriousness if I suggested celebrating it with Winston in the stables._

_Anyway, I should go and have this sent off so as to catch the evening post. Mother's cousin and her two alphas are coming to dinner tonight which is pleasant enough. Ms. Katz, Ms. Annabelle Bloom's first alpha, I get on with very well. I hope at least that I can nab the seat beside her for the duration, as I have not heard what else happened after I left the ball last night, and she is always good for such news._

_Please give my kind regards to Maggie when you see her. Don't worry, I won't forget to send her a letter this midwinter._

_Your affectionate friend,_

_Will Graham._

* * *

As he stepped out of his carriage, a spacious and expensive vehicle he had indulged upon, it was already dark. Winter was swiftly coming, and even with the time being before the evening meal, the sun had already slipped away like a coy bride into her bedchamber. Amused by his own thoughts, and pleased by the chill in the air, he stepped up and knocked upon the door. 

"Hannibal, welcome. Please do come in." 

The familiar address and cheerful visage that greeted him was Alana herself, seeming in good form this evening despite the undoubtedly little sleep she had received due to the aftermath of clearing up after the ball. The light blue silk dress she had chosen called attention to the contrast of her dark hair, making her skin radiantly pale by comparison, with just enough ornamentation to distract from any slight fatigue showing through. It was a well-constructed presence she offered, and he approved both of the skill and effort she had put in on his behalf tonight. 

"Thank you. The evening sees you well, I hope? It certainly appears to. You look exquisite tonight." 

It was with his usual ease that he took the offered hand to kiss, the brush of his lips on her knuckles granting him the pleasure of her smile and the discontent of Jack at her side. Still, he was not here to cause problems tonight, and so as he was ushered indoors he turned to the man with a smile. 

"Mr Crawford, I hear you have been somewhat in high demand recently," he said, showing clearly enough for even such a man, that he was not intending trouble, but to curry favour tonight. "Several times I heard your name mentioned in gratitude by the police for the help you gave them lately. Are congratulations in order for a promotion?" 

They moved through the large hallway to one of the reception rooms, Hannibal handing off his gift of a small case of home brewed beer to Alana as they walked. She was quite partial to the stuff, and he had brewed this for her in mind, as she would know. The floors, he noticed, had been freshly waxed and polished, and the surfaces dusted despite it being only half a day since the ball had ended. He doubted such things had been done purely to cater to his presence, but at the expectation of callers, for while official suitors were traditionally to wait for confirmation of their acceptance, it was not unusual to drop in to offer a letter or other small memento after a ball. 

Jack, he could see, was torn between his general animosity towards him, and the clear need to preen at the accomplishment and pride of his situation. 

"No congratulations needed yet, but I expect it will be soon. The current investigating chief is considering retirement." 

"That is excellent news!" 

Indeed, assuming the working hours of the post remained the same, the chances were that Jack would be far too busy with his work to maintain his hold as the family's head alpha, and would either have to step aside for someone else, or give up the post. In either case, the somewhat vindictive side of Hannibal liked it. It would be an enduring wound in the man who thought to control this family so inelegantly. 

His attention was drawn from the man, a pleasant enough situation, but more so by the fact it was by Ms. Katz and what appeared to be her omega. 

"Dr Lecter, I didn't know you were visiting this evening. Allow me to introduce my mate, Ms. Annabelle Bloom, and our second Mr Radley." 

General pleasantries were exchanged, though certainly nothing particularly noteworthy. Alana's cousin seemed rather lacking in the acuity he had come to expect from the Bloom family. Perhaps that was a reason why she had chosen Ms. Katz, being of a like mind to Alana, though of a somewhat sharper tongue and more ruthless thinking. Although he would not call Ms. Katz a good friend, he hardly knew her, Alana had said that she had been Will's escort with Mr Price yestereve. It might well be worth the effort then to enhance that tie with her for that reason alone. He wasn't sure he could wilfully do the same for her mate though. 

The conversation was polite but largely meaningless and eventually they moved through to the dining room, and he was gratified to be placed at Alana's right, as guest of honour, a situation improved upon by the appearance of Mr Graham who had a slightly stunned look of surprise upon seeing him there. 

"Mr Graham. A pleasure to see you again." 

Indeed it was, for although the man was not looking his best so soon after the strain of the ball, there had been some minor concern on his part that perhaps Will would forgo the evening dining with the family for that reason. Perhaps such a concern was not only his remit, for it was clear that Will had not expected his presence, nor, if his less formal attire was to be judged, any guests outside the family. 

A polite greeting in return from the man, and a glance to Alana in query, who, charming as she was, merely smiled brightly. 

"I asked Hannibal tonight, as a friend, since he was unable to attend last night." 

"And I am grateful, for I would not willingly forgo either of your company without good reason. However I won't sour the dinner with details of such an indelicate topic." 

The conversation was interjected then by Mrs Harris, entirely missing the point of his comment, or wilfully ignoring it. He was guessing it was not wilful. 

"Yes, what a dreadful business. I read about it in the newspaper this morning. Or, I should say that I had heard, for it was from Mr Fall who read it out, as is his habit with the papers in the mornings over breakfast." 

Mrs Harris' lack of delicacy of conversation was not a particular surprise, but did derail the starting of dinner enough to be felt, something that Alana was quick to more on from as the soup course was served. 

It was interesting, but not unsurprising that he found Ms. Katz to be on his other side, and thus his conversational partner for the first course of the meal. It had been some time since he had been in her company, and although her manners could be, at times, lacking, she more than made up for it with the quickness of her mind and her clever wit. It was rare enough that he got to enjoy a challenging and amusing conversational partner, but that rarity only made it far more enjoyable. It also gave him a better chance to win her favour, for with such a person it would certainly not do to have her against him in his suit for Will Graham. He expected the man valued her good opinion highly, something he was coming to appreciate himself. 

"You seemed to have made a good impression on Mr Graham when last you met," she spoke quietly to him as they ate, the murmur of other conversations going on around them far less circumspect in their volume than she was being. "He was disappointed not to see you last night." 

"Alas, a circumstance I could not help." 

"Your absence opened the field, so to speak. Mr Crawford introduced a Lieutenant of the navy last night, and his presence turned many gazes, including Mr Graham's. Aside from yourself, it is the first time I have seen him genuinely react well in such circumstances in a while." 

That news, if true, was a little troubling. He hadn't expected any significant opposition, especially considering Mr Graham's past and continued unmated status. 

"I am surprised his head could be turned by the type of man Mr Crawford would choose. You don't consider his interest to be pressured?" 

Ms. Katz looked over to him, her eyes holding a wicked glint. 

"No more than your presence here today is. It will be interesting to watch, these coming weeks, whether your charm and keen mind will win out over stoic courtesy and animal magnetism." 

"You believe him to be influenced by such primal instincts then?" 

"I think," she said, contemplating the man in question across the table for a moment before turning back to Dr Lecter, "that whether he does now or not, it has been a long time for him, and his body may respond far more instinctively than in the past due to that. Omegas' biology craves a family of their own, just as we are driven to protect and provide for that family." 

"There are beasts within us all, underneath this veneer of civility." 

"And are you then like Hades, come to walk amongst us to find your Persephone? The mantle of civility you wear is so strong, most would be fools to try and seek beneath. I am content to know that such a person would protect and make him happy, whomever he should choose." 

"Should I have drawn up tonight then in a chariot led by four black horses, and feast upon the sighs and tears of the vanquished?" 

"Satisfying as that might be, I was rather looking forward to the roast lamb that has been taunting me from the kitchen for the last couple of hours. Either way, I do hope this Persephone will be far more pleased with the outcome of the courting than it was historically. As much as it would amuse me to see the results of the vanished, you know of course he would be troubled or upset over abject cruelty. I do trust you will offer up some entertainment however?" 

"Oh, I think that could be arranged." 

"Excellent! I knew you wouldn't disappoint. Ah, here is the main course. I do hope to hear of your exploits soon, Dr Lecter. Perhaps we could meet for a drink sometime." 

"Of course. I shall send you an invitation once I have checked my diary." 

And so the second course was served, and his attention was turned to the other side, to Alana, a pleasure of a different sort. She, he knew, would not relish the games he was now set to play, but she was not ignorant that they would happen, nor that he was carefully constructing alliances while enjoying the dinner. For her part, she allowed them both time to try the food, and he was glad to be able to compliment it without reservations. 

Alana, he was pleased to note, had lost none of her skills in conversation that he had previously admired her for, the topics ranging enough to be varied and interesting, and the depth of intellect showing through in the comments and observations that she offered. He could only really fault her for her sometimes single-minded drive to think the best of people wherever possible, and that was as much a part of her personality as anything else. 

By comparison, sitting, as he was, opposite Will, who appeared moderately ill-at-ease, he had noticed that while the man was generally polite and courteous, especially to a stranger (for Mr Radley was next to him in the second half), he was not comfortable in such a setting. Considering his own love of formal dining, this lack in Mr Graham would need to be addressed in some manner if they did become mated. It would not do, after all, for either of the hosts to come across poorly. 

That was an issue for another time however, though not one outwith his capabilities he was sure. There were, after all, a vast array of options for making sociability more palatable. For now, small steps to keep the man at ease would work best until he was more assured of their relative compatibility and connection. 

The dinner, pleasant as it was, concluded, and they moved through to one of the sitting rooms and he contented himself with making sure that he was able to sit, this time, near to Mr Graham where he might observe and converse with him with greater intimacy. Alana had taken herself to the grand piano across the room and it was no hardship listening to her play. 

Mr Graham, he was pleased to note, was similarly pleased to listen, though perhaps the diversion was more pleasing as it allowed him the socially acceptable reasoning for being quiet. Alana had not mentioned any particular skill in him for music, which was perhaps a little disappointing. Such a thought was reinforced when it was Annabelle Bloom that was next asked to play, rather than Alana's son. It was easy to see that the man enjoyed listening to the music though, and so perhaps that was enough. After all, even if Mr Graham did not play an instrument, Hannibal certainly did, and so at least one of them could fill the house with music. There was a sort of anticipation there, to see whether he could garner just as rapt attention and appreciation from those blue eyes as Alana had elicited. 

Ms Annabelle Bloom, he was sad to say, did not pose nearly as adept a player as Alana. Although technically correct, there was no soul nor feeling to the music that now filled the room. It was not painful to listen to, but neither was it a particular pleasure, much like her company. 

In some respects he was pleased for this, for it would ensure Alana, forever looking out for people's happiness, would not minorly shame Ms. Bloom, by asking him to play afterwards. Alana knew his skill, having listened to him play a number of times in the past. She might, in truth, not have asked him anyway, for astute as she was, would likely have guessed he would wish to perform at his own home on the harpsichord the first time Will heard him. 

It was with polite attention rather than true pleasure that he listened, picking up the faint sounds of children's tantrums heard under the piano music from deeper in the house. Glad as he was that they had not been at the dinner, nor here, he could still smell their scents lingering in the room, alongside the reminder of the ball last night from the ever-so-faint traces of spilled food and alcohol that remained in evidence on the rug on the far side of the room. Such things were to be expected, of course. He reminds himself that he will have to take extra precautions for when he would be hosting these larger and more public balls, where the precaution and care of whom one lets into your house has to be a little more lenient. It might be best if, when that time came, that there was a second set of rugs that could be used and removed afterwards for a more thorough cleaning between times. 

At least the aspect of children would not be one he needed to deal with. What a pleasant circumstance, he reminisced as he watched Alana make her way over to them, that he had the good fortune to find an intellectually strong friend to have passed on her genetics to son that was suitable for him, so the issue of unwanted children's tantrums and messes by such illogical and irritating beings was not something he would have to cater for. 

"You play as beautifully as ever," he murmured to her, his tone set low enough that it wouldn't carry past the small seating arrangement and disrupt anyone else's in the room who happened to enjoy listening to the rather soulless rendition being performed. 

He did not find himself dissuaded by the silence of Mr Graham's presence with them there. The shock of having an extra guest after an excessively stressful night before it was perhaps expected. Indeed, he was also considering the fact that he had seemingly missed his company during that event was a strong indicator that the man did find his attention turned towards him, and that very interest may well be limiting how conversationally inclined he appeared to be. With a person who struggled to speak fluidly when under pressure, he may well have been more concerned if the man was chatting with him easily, for that would show a disregard for how important such a conversation might be between them. 

And yet lingering here did little good for his plans. Alana, he found, was not as talkative while there was other entertainment going on, and he didn't want the silence between himself and Will to end up feeling strained for the man, or worse, leave him feeling neglected. It was better, therefore, to make an exit fairly early in the proceedings, but in a way that was beneficial to him. Once the current set of music from the piano had come to a conclusion, he set his now empty glass back down on the small side table and rose, buttoning his suit jacket up once more and ensuring it sat properly, both Alana and Mr Graham rising also. 

"Well, I won't keep you any longer, it's getting late and I have work in the morning. Perhaps if it is not a great imposition, you could see me to my carriage, Mr Graham?" 

He was gratified when Will nodded his head in agreement, and allowed his attention to return to Alana who accepted a kiss to her hand, much as he had done when entering. 

"It was lovely to see you again, Hannibal. We, both of us have been so busy with work that is good to catch up again where there is time enough to actively speak." 

"Likewise. What are life's accomplishments and frustrations if we are unable to share them with others." 

"More than that," she laughs, "I tend to forget how it is to dance with words when not embroiled in some debate for work. Do have a safe trip home. Will? Remember your coat. It's chill out tonight to be outside." 

So it was some brief farewells, and a knowing look from Ms. Katz, he let himself be led down the corridors towards the front hall with a rather silent Will. 

"I can only apologize," he said as they moved, having ascertained that his companion was at his limit for social niceties today. Such stressful things like a ball was likely to have such lingering effects, but he was not about to give up on any conversation despite this, especially now they were outwith the gaze of Mr Crawford. "I had every intention of attending last eve, but as I was on my way back to my office to gathering my belongings, a crisis arose that called me immediately back. One of the hospital's long-term sick had a psychotic break and attacked others. Nine were injured, including one of the wardens, before they were stopped. Three required immediate surgery to save their lives. As the situation was time-critical there wasn't enough time to call in another surgeon, and I sent a note with my regrets, and hoped you might forgive my absence under the circumstances. I can assure you that this sort of thing is exceeding rare and unlikely happen in future." 

Will was silent for long moments before asking, slightly hesitantly, if they would all survive. 

"I believe so. The first day is the most critical, but unless they get an infection in the wounds, or do something to rupture the stitches, I expect they will make a nearly full recovery in time. 

"That's good." 

Easy, yet meaning less conversation was not, it seemed, a skill that Mr Graham possessed, for there was silence after that fact, rather than addendum of words that served little purpose. He didn't doubt the man's intelligence nor aptitude in conversing or at least speaking of other things though, for having now read the majority of newspaper articles and journal essays he had put out, such things were a given. It was odd for an omega to struggle with such minor conversational normalities, but then there was something so gratifyingly exceptional about that difference that it only made him want to dig deeper. 

He let the silence linger, rather than fill it, as he had done before. Perhaps it was less of a kindness this time, but the question still lingered between them, as yet unanswered, and he wasn't going to stoop so low as to back up his justification of absence. The words were enough of an allowance on his part, but if Mr Graham found them lacking, well, it would be a disappointment, but he could find another he was sure to fill the role as his mate. Perhaps not quite so good as this one, if the signs were anything to go by, and he would be disappointed, but he would not stoop himself so low as to sound like he might beg forgiveness. There were many things he might do to accommodate a suitable mate, but that was not one of them. 

Thankfully however, such a drastic change of plans was unnecessary, for Mr Graham used the distraction of drawing on his coat to find his words. 

"Considering how much I often lament the necessity of social engagements, and avoid them wherever possible without nearly as as good an excuse, I cannot hold your absence against you." 

It was a concession as well as a warning, he knew, that if Hannibal was wishing to hold and attend many social functions, Mr Graham would not be that amenable to attend. He had guessed this well enough of course, but he suspected many, such as Mr Froideveaux, would have discounted it as a small hurdle to be handled and then ignored. He didn't consider it a small hurdle, but then he had a far greater expertise in manipulating people for his own ends. 

"Not all of us are required to be social. You, I hazard, would be much more content of an evening reading with your dogs at your feet, and perhaps the quiet company of another." 

His curiosity given voice, an allowance to himself to find out what the man had thought of his gift. Now alone and in the slightly more confined space of the lobby, it was easier to pick up his scent. The soap he used and the fairly recent contact with dogs were easier to pick out, as is the lingering scent of old books that suggest he had spent some time today in the library. There are the lingering taints of stress and anxiety on his skin, something that stayed longer due to his discomfort, though not nearly so strong as the past. There was a faint smile at the edge of Mr Graham's lips that suggested a knowing amusement with the statement, and the reasons behind it. That such a thing was not lost upon the man was vastly pleasing. 

"You would be correct. I spent some time today reading a bit more of the book you sent last week." 

He fell silent, though it was a pause rather than a lack of intent to continue as he opened the front door and looked up to the sky beyond, Hannibal's carriage already there waiting. 

"I have been finding it an interesting read. A puzzle that keeps my attention." 

"What makes you say that? Of the multitudes that have read the novel on travelling through Europe, I doubt many would ever call it puzzling." 

Although he kept the tone light, he couldn't help but seek out answers with his gaze, something that he knew Mr Graham noted, for a glance to his face was given, a slight change in that elusive scent that was all his own before those blue eyes deferred away again towards the garden. 

"The game the author is playing with the reader. The hints are fairly subtle, but a clear once once you know what to look for. I have not yet worked out it's purpose." 

"I am glad you found the gift pleasing. Perhaps you will have a clearer impression by the end of it. I would be interested on hearing your thoughts on the matter." 

Mr Graham gave a soft hum of ascent, stepping of the stairs and down onto the gravel, his mood seeming to have taken a less anxious route and instead becoming more thoughtful at this topic. Following him down, he was momentarily confused by the sudden change in his scent, mild as most of his natural scent was, but clearly anger. It was when he noted the direction that gaze flickered that reason was clear, for Mr Crawford could be seen striding down the hall towards them, and wasn't that interesting. At the ball, Will had been verbal in his defence of the man, but it seemed that there was at least some anger there over the interruption. Perhaps it was something he could build on, or at least utilize. 

"Mr Crawford, did I leave something in the sitting room behind?" 

Usually he might merely have taken note and moved on, but he was too eager to see what the clever understanding Mr Graham would see, and how Crawford would react. After all, there was, unless something had happened indoors to call one of their presences, no need for him to come seeking the omega, not at his age, in his own home estate, and after so little time. He might have indulged in his own anger if not for that delightful response in Mr Graham. 

The flash of presence the other alpha emitted in instinctive response to what was clearly irritation was almost laughable, as was the way the man tried to crowd them both with it, attempting, he presumed to warn him away from Mr Graham, and for the latter to demurely accept it. The taste of Mr Graham's anger at it was delicious. 

"No," Crawford said, attempting for some manner of mild friendliness with that supposed threat looming, "merely come to see you off." 

"How thoughtful. The meal and company has been excellent tonight. I shall hope to delight just as much when you come to dinner." 

The latter was said to Mr Crawford, but he let his gaze turn to Mr Graham for the comment was truly for him. It was perhaps presumptuous of him, for he had not been given the official letter to accept his courtship yet, but if he was reading the man right, that anger at Crawford's curtailing of his freedom would most likely see small open rebellions against it. This, if he had played it well enough, would give such an excuse, for the intimation was that it had already been agreed on. And, well, if he was using Mr Graham's reticence about speaking against him in order to gain the next steps in courtship, it was justifiable. In truth, with Crawford's presence pressing, he didn't expect a verbal response from him, but the nod, when it came still filled him with satisfaction. 

"My mate speaks of your dinners highly." 

The comment from Crawford was grudgingly complimentary in return, and he inclined his head in acceptance of it. 

"I do try," he said, then turning more fully towards Mr Graham who was by far more pleasing company, "but I will not keep you out in the cold any longer, Mr Graham. The night wears on and time is not something even I can put on hold." 

He had used the words to turn towards the waiting carriage, walking slowly enough the person to whom he was talking would unconsciously follow so as to maintain the distance to converse. Crawford, he was pleased to note, stayed where he was, a brooding figure of dissatisfaction. 

It was when he was at the carriage door that he paused, ready to offer a final farewell, when Mr Graham spoke. 

"Are you wearing scent blockers?" 

The question made him pause, so unexpected as it was in it's content. Perhaps that was the reason alone for asking it, to try and get an unguarded response, or perhaps it was something he had been wondering about for a while. Either way, the question pleased him, and he smiled. 

"No, I am not. Farewell for now, Mr Graham." 

* * *

Will stood there, watching the carriage off, confused and intrigued by the encounter. As far as he could tell, Lecter hadn't been lying, despite the fact that whatever scent he had was so faint as to be nearly unidentifiable. But that smile had been so pleased, knowingly pleased at the question that there had to be more to it than that. Was he merely that satisfied by showing he was so different from Jack, by the fact he exuded no tell-tale scent to read? Could anyone truly be that controlled in their body's expression? Was it something else? 

"Come into the house, Will." 

The command from behind him reminded him more acutely of that difference. Despite all the discomfort and anxiety surrounding the courting, he was looking forward to time away from the Jack, something that was becoming less prevalent as the years passed. Jack seemed to view him more as family property to command in recent years rather than an omega waiting to find a suitable mate, someone to see to and use as necessary. For a time around the heat at least, he could have some space elsewhere, learn to settle with an alpha of his own, get to know them better for the heat. No matter what Beverly thought, he didn't hold out any hope of being mated after it, but at least for two to three weeks, it would almost be like he had. 

As they walked down the hallway after he had closed the door and hung up his coat, the weight of Jack's aura pressing on him, he was certainly looking forward to that break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although in the tv series and books, Jimmy Price's twin brother was never mentioned, Bryan Fuller mentioned on twitter, in joking, that the brother was called Timmy, and so that is the name I have used. You can see the post here:  
> https://twitter.com/BryanFuller/status/863928171309264898
> 
> Also, I am not particularly happy with the formatting available for the letter, as the initial address and date are meant to be on the right hand side, but I couldn't figure a way to do that here. Pretend it was on the right :)


	5. Puppies and a Lieutenant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language note:  
> 'dam' is the term for the female parent of an animal, most commonly used in reference to a female dog. It is used in the same way 'bitch' would be used to describe them. In this case I used the term because it is a more genteel way of saying it, rather than the more crass term 'bitch', which has far more negative and crude connotations. I am aware however that not everyone knows the term, hence this note.  
> See Dam (2) at https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/dam

**_Hargreaves Residence, Merchiston Wynd, London - Wednesday 7th October_**

The carriage’s rolling gait as it jolted over the cobblestones did little to settle Will’s nerves on the upcoming visit. He knew little of whom he was going to see, a man by the name of Mr Hargreaves, barely remembering him from the evening of the last ball. However the gift of a pup was one of the most apt gifts for him, and so today found him, rather than one of the other family members, making the trip. 

He was taking no chances however, for although the odds that someone invited to the ball being a danger to him was minimal, it was best not to go unprepared for that possibility. That being the case, the afternoon saw him sharing the carriage with Price, Nathan and Zeller, as well as Jacob who was driving. It wasn't merely for security either, but for his own peace of mind as well as general propriety that the upper classes tended to adhere to. 

The grey of the streets passed by, shimmering cobbles in the rain punctuated once in a while by the glimpse of bright fabric being swiftly hidden from the weather by dour cloaks. Despite the new sewerage tunnels, the rain still lifted the smell into the air from a nearby overflow, which did little to settle his stomach. 

The neighbourhood they were travelling to was certainly not one of the most moneyed parts of the city, but that in itself didn't bother him particularly. Although he was sure he would hear more of it from Zeller or Jack if this alpha proved to gain his interest, living in abject wealth did not concern him as much as comfort and security did. Unfortunately those that were the most able to see to such things tended also to end up in positions of wealth and prestige as well. Whether this was a societal or a biological happen-stance was still open for debate, but the sheer fact that the strongest and most able tended to gain the best positions in life did not bode well for this alpha. But there was much a person might do with time to improve his position, and may well already have done so. There was a fair amount Will was willing to overlook for the company of someone with whom he could be comfortably friends with. Whether this man filled that criteria was yet to be seen. 

Still, the pleasure of seeing the dogs and choosing one of the litter was a good enough way of spending his time, though the timing was particularly good for the alpha in this, perhaps by design. To have a gift that required further contact when usually there would be none if he had not been chosen was a clever way of gaining some advantage, or at least a second chance to impress. 

As the carriage pulled to a stop, he stepped out and onto the street, his gaze rising to the house as they made their way towards the door. It was a terraced building, as most were in the more central areas of town, but it wasn't one of the more cramped ones that tended to frequent the lower quarters, and the exterior at least seemed to be well maintained. Rented rather than owned, according to Nathan who had looked into it, which was certainly not uncommon, but at least the man had stayed there since his moving to town two years prior, a sign he had not merely rented it recently in the hope of winning favour above his income. 

"Mr Graham! So glad you were able to make the time to come see the pups. Please do come in." 

The man was well-dressed, though it would say a lot if he had not been, for warning for their time of arrival had been sent earlier. 

"I hope the trip was not too arduous," he continued, "Sometimes the streets can be so filled with noise and effluent personalities as to be quite horrible. Why, I was saying to Ms. Cooper just last week how noisy it was getting. But please, let Miss Smithson take your coat and I can show you the pups. They are growing so fast, I fear my house will soon seem very small indeed!" 

The man laughed, seeming jovial enough, though there was a sort of pressured edge to it that spoke of his nervousness. Will could withhold judgement on that count especially considering his own temperament, but also because for someone who was not quite as well positioned as others at the ball, this man had more to lose by making a mistake, for his relative lack of wealth and position compared to others would be a mark against him in some respects. 

They were led through towards the back of the house where a cacophony of yips could be heard, and when entering the large room, it became clear that these dogs would not be small things, for even now at only seven of weeks old, the pups were larger than the more commonly used lap-dogs. They were scruffy looking things, with large paws that hinted at their future size, their long legs all gangly right now. Will wasted little time in bending down to pet the ones that scrambled across to see him. 

"They will end up the size of the dam," Mr Hargreaves said, "or a bit larger if male. Beatrice here did well by them, didn't you dear?" The man was patting a slightly exhausted looking wolfhound that had come over with her pups. The sheer size of the docile looking dog was rather astounding, and Will didn't doubt that if she jumped up, she would easily be as tall as him. 

"They are lovely." 

Mr Hargreaves chattered on, but Will paid him as little mind as he could politely do, far more interested in the puppies clambering over the finely tailored suit he had on. One of these was to be his, and while there were many family dogs, it was really only Wilson that he owned, and the thought of having such a large dog of his own had a far greater appeal to it than he might otherwise have considered. 

He found himself petting the large head of the mother as she came over, her curiosity a relaxed sort of thing, though her presence did excite the pups all the more, who were alternating between trying to get to her to be fed, and trying to climb on her and William both. She sort of towered over him while he was kneeling, but there was nothing threatening about it. If anything, the calm dog was a reassurance, which only settled his mind on the pleasing nature of having one of his own. 

"Can I offer you a drink, Mr Graham? We have a very nice tea blend from the East Indies at the moment, or some fruit juice if you prefer?" 

Will dragged his attention away from the pup that was currently playing with her brother while nestled on his lap, pawing the air as much as the other pup. 

"Thank you, no. I cannot stay long. I do have some questions about the pups though." 

"Of course, please ask anything you like. I would be happy to offer you anything you might need." 

Not exactly subtle, was he? But then, Will knew himself to be distracted by the puppies, and so perhaps he had missed something before then that had been noted. 

"I was wondering if you had the sire here, his size and temperament, and what sort of traits you had been breeding the pups for. I would also like to know of any health problems that the parents have had, or the breed has in general, and what you have been feeding the pups up until now, other than that from their mother, as well as how you have been socializing them." 

The pup on his lap had been replaced with another one, a male this time, that had been trying to lick at his neck and ended up tumbled into his arms instead, and was currently squirming to be let up while simultaneously chewing on his sleeve with those little sharp teeth. 

"Alas, the sire is with his owners in Portsmouth, owned by the Procter family who have kept wolfhounds for centuries. A very good line! They have bred them for their even temperament and hunting ability, but Beatrice here was chosen for her quiet nature. She hasn't been out hunting in years, but I dare say she still could if the opportunity was there, but she generally prefers lazing around in the house, don't you, my lovely?" 

The man took some time petting the large wolfhound, who seemed to be very easy with the situation, despite several pups clambering for her attention. 

"As for the health problems, I doubt there will be any, as neither parents have had anything of the sort. Of course, wolfhounds tend not to live as long as those little lap dogs that are seen these days, as larger dogs always tend to have shorter lives. I am told that it is heart problems that are the most common when older. Apparently you can tell when they might have problems with their heart if they start chewing on their paws. Lack of circulation you know. Not much can be done for it, but that's the way of things. Still, I hear they can live even as long as ten years if you are lucky. As for the rest, well, you would need to speak to my brother about that, as he sees to the day-to-day feeding. Allow me to call him." 

He looked over to Price as the alpha left the room, only to get a slight shrug in reply to his silent and unspecified question. Nothing too worrying either way then. He didn't ask Zeller, mainly because he didn't trust him to keep his voice quiet with whatever commentary he might have on the situation. A house like this, not in the very upper-parts of society, Zeller would automatically sneer over, and he didn't tend to be quiet when he had something to say. 

As Mr Hargreaves came back in with his brother, Will carefully set down the puppy and stood, not willing now to be in such a position when two strangers were in the room, puppies or not. 

"Mr Graham, may I present to you my brother, Mr George Hargreaves." 

The man was slender compared to his brother, and slightly taller, though you would never peg him for anything other than a beta, even without the muted mellow scent. 

"Mr Hargreaves, I believe you can tell me more about what the puppies have been eating, and how you have been socializing them up until now?" 

"Other than visitor's clothing and the odd piece of furniture? Mostly meat paste or stew if the pieces are small enough, though to be honest there isn't too much of a need to make the pieces that small with how large they are growing now. As for socializing, we have a fair number of visitors that come to the house, some of them bring their dogs, and we have been taking them to the Patrick's estate a couple of times a week to get them used to travel, and the dogs they keep there. Overall they have been doing very well." 

George Hargreaves had knelt down while he was speaking and was petting the puppies, who had all mostly gravitated towards him. It was clear enough that he spent a great deal of time with them from the way they interacted, and it warmed Will to see them so loved. 

"They are clearly very well cared for, Mr Hargreaves. You do well by them." 

Moving over to Price to gather his coat, the little female that had been playing with her brother on his lap earlier had chased after him, or tried to, ending up falling over before scrambling up to return to the task. Will smiled and crouched down again to pet her for her perseverance. She was an adorable thing, all paws and focused attention, the latter something that would make her easier to train. 

"I think this one," Will said to the two Hargreaves. 

"An excellent choice. She was the one I might have kept myself. Here, why don't you put this little collar on her, so she doesn't get lost amongst her siblings." 

The alpha watched proudly as Will tied the bit of ribbon around the pup's throat, ensuring it wasn't too tight. 

"I am afraid we cannot stay any longer, but thank you for the gift. The pups are wonderful." 

"Of course, I am extremely glad you like them. I will be sad to let them go, but I don't doubt the pup will find an excellent home with you, Mr Graham." 

As they carefully extracted themselves from the energetic pups, and headed back out into the cold air of the day, he was followed out by the alpha, Mr Richard Hargreaves, who was bidding him farewell. 

"Visit any time, just send word to ensure we are in and able to receive you. With them growing so fast, I expect we will take them out more. What a mountain of chaos that will be!" 

The alpha laughed, and Will offered a mild smile, though not for want of amusement. 

"I shall do that. Thank you." 

Back in the carriage, the door having been thoughtfully closed by Mr Hargreaves for them, they were once more alone as they headed back home. In truth they had nothing else pressing to do, but visits were best left short, for his nerves if nothing else. 

"So what did you think?" he asked Price. 

"The dogs seemed nice, if large. But we have the space." 

"And the man?" 

"You barely noticed him. The dogs had more of your attention than he did. I doubt that would be the case with some of the others you have met, no matter how cute the puppies were." 

Will nodded, falling silent and thoughtful as he looked out of the window at the passing streets. It was true. If it had been Lieutenant Anderson, his aura alone would have drawn attention, and Dr Lecter, well, he wasn't sure he could see him being around dogs, which might be an issue, but he still drew attention with his presence, even if it wasn't with his aura. 

Will had been through too many heats, with too many alphas over the years not to understand when something was a lost cause. Mr Hargreaves would get another visit, but only so Will could see about the pups. If he had thought to engraciate himself with Will enough to be considered for his heat, there was no faulting Price's logic in that he just hadn't responded enough. 

"I suppose you are right." 

* * *

**_Anderson Residence, London - Monday 12th October_**

Lieutenant Anderson stood in his room determinedly not reaching for the muslin over the window in order to keep watch for the carriage. They were not due for at least half an hour, and if anyone were watching he would show himself to be quite anxious by doing so. Likewise he had relegated himself to his bedchamber in order to resist the temptation of rechecking things in the house. He had ensured that much of the preparations had been seen to in advance, and only the food preparation was needing to be completed now, and he would only end up underfoot if he tried to go anywhere near the kitchen. 

After some discussion with Mrs Becket, they had decided it was probably best to hire in a chef for the duration of the courting, especially considering the standard that the Blooms were used to. Of course she had aptly drilled him for all the details he could remember about such meals, and while useful, supposedly, he was by far more likely to think it was for her own curiosity. The fact that a chef would be dealing with the meal also had the added bonus, for her, of granting the ability to join them at the table. Considering that Mr Graham was bringing three family members, as was convention, the extra conversation not directly required of him would be a boon. 

Behind him, Mrs Becket's son, David, was clearing away the tea he had left unfinished earlier, now long-gone. Not much past his steps into adulthood, he was still in-training to be a manservant, something that went better some days than others. As part of his agreement with the Beckets, he had paid to send him to a tutor to learn the apprenticeship skills for part of most days. 

Today, with all its excitement and distractions, had not been such a good day for the boy, for he had upended a spoon of blackberry preserve onto his tunic earlier when clearing the table from luncheon. 

Glancing over, as much to preserve his own peace-of-mind as anything, Anderson's brows furrowed at seeing the boy still wearing the same tunic, though some effort had clearly been made to remove the stain, it was still visible. 

"What are you still doing in that tunic? Go and change. They will be here soon." 

The hesitation with both action or reply did not bode well, and the Lieutenant turned more fully to face him. 

"I would, but the spare is in for the laundry tomorrow, Sir." 

"You cannot have soiled them all. I wrote with instructions two months ago to get five sets made." 

"Ah... um... I only have the two. I could maybe borrow one of Da's old ones?" 

Lieutenant Anderson was not a man of casual angers, and in most cases he maintained a rigid control on it, but with much hinging on this initial meeting going well, he would admit upon hearing this, he was struggling to contain it. 

"What will it look like," he asked the now cringing boy, "when you serve the table dressed in a dirty or ill-fitting tunic? It will look like I didn't provide those of my household with what they require. I sent orders, and funds, to get those tunics, and when I give orders, it is your job to follow them, not to do as you see fit!" 

He had to take a couple of long moments to try and control both his anger and his aura, aware as well that his raised voice had likely been heard by the rest of the house, at least in volume. 

"Go and speak with Mrs Becket and see what can be done before they arrive." 

Turning away from the boy's fear and apologies, he let him escape out the door, aware that even this could affect the outcome tonight. It was foolish of him to let his anger out now, no matter how justified, for if that taint of fear lingered, it wouldn't look good, no matter that he usually never raised his voice to the boy. This wasn't a ship, and although servants, he needed to be more careful in how he reacted around them. 

Seeking distraction, he walked over to the small shelf above the desk, running his fingers over the small wooden jars there. They were not particularly pretty, but then he wasn't a professional wood-turner. Taking one down, he opened it to see the rich colour of the powder within, the scent of the spices transporting him back to the exotic markets abroad, but then further back to the warehouse he grew up around. Back then, he had never tasted the exotic spices, far too expensive to waste on a child, but the smells reminded him of those lazy afternoons playing around the bags and boxes in the warehouse, pretending he was a mighty king of the desert, or a sea captain fighting great monsters for his cargo. 

Now older, and never a king nor a captain, he did at least know the flavours these jars held, as he took each one down to let their scents mingle enough like the past as to offer distraction from the coming visit. 

\-- 

Stepping out of the carriage, Will could see little of the building in the evening darkness despite the lamps, but he remembered what it looked like well enough from having passed it before. Like the owner, it wasn't a handsome building, but it did give the impression of solidity that had no-doubt pleased the Lieutenant. He admitted curiosity to himself over what the interior would yield about the man, or if there would be anything at all considering how short his stay in town had been so far. 

Jack was at his side with Alana, and Price offering him a hopeful smile before taking the carriage to the nearby stable yard, for until they were ready to leave later on. Jack had been far more pushy and demanding about this visit, seeing as how he wanted it to go perfectly to his own plans, and Will must not mess those up. As if he had been willingly rejecting mates during heat before now. Jack wanted him to appear to be the ideal mate, and the sheer lunacy of that idea was what kept him from speaking back to the man and earning his ire. Best overall if Jack remained pleased, even if he was trying to sell a lame horse to a racecourse. Alana, for her part, said very little on the journey, and had limited herself to the usual placations of positive outlook that he had heard so often over the years as to render them meaningless when inevitably they proved false. 

They were welcomed at the door by the Lieutenant, dressed this time formally but not in his uniform, perhaps to convey that he could be more than merely his job. Inside was sparse but functional with small touches of home that were likely at the hand of his servants, for he could not see the man turning his hand to flower-arranging, tastefully discreet even as it was. 

Jack was in good spirits now they were here, and wasted no time in engaging their host in conversation over the location of the property, before swiftly going on more about his work. Alana linked her arm through Will's as they made their way to the sitting room to wait for dinner to be ready, and while it was clear from the looks granted his way that the Lieutenant wished to include him into the conversation somehow, Jack was at his most demanding, and there was little that could be done without being rude or point out the relative offence this posed. 

Will, used to this, merely gave the man a slight shrug to indicated that he didn't hold it against him. After all, there would be time to chat during and after dinner when he was given a tour of the house where they might converse better. Jack often thought himself like a rock, but in truth when he was of a mind to be, he could just as easily be an avalanche, and stepping carefully to avoid triggering it tended to be the safest option. 

They were joined in the sitting room by the Lieutenant's housekeeper, a friendly and amiable woman by the name of Mrs Becket, who, quite at odds with the stoic employer, was almost excessively chatty and curious, seemingly unafraid of stepping over into talking too much, but despite this managed to charm his mother very much by her enthusiasm for all the happenings in town, and her work in it. Will found himself disposed to like her, for when directing conversation his way, she didn't push where it was not wanted and yet still made him feel welcome. 

The conversation flowed naturally enough through to the dining room, which although had been done up for their visit, was fairly sparse in terms of decoration. The table itself seemed to be a good and sturdy construction, and fairly new, which perhaps said a lot for the type of man he was visiting. 

During the soup he was beside Price, who had returned from seeing to the carriage, while Jack talked work with Anderson and Mrs Becket teased more detail about the happenings at the ball from Alana. The food was served by another servant, a youth whose nervousness was fairly apparent. 

"My son," Mrs Becket elaborated when the soup had been served, "he tries hard, bless him, but still has a ways to go in his apprenticeship. Makes me proud of how hard he works." 

Her tone was set to a volume that carried just enough to be easily heard by others. The Lieutenant, he noted, had paid little attention to the boy when he entered. It was reassuring that the paid servants felt comfortable enough to press views and assertions while in company, for it was clear that Mrs Becket held some fondness for her employer, something that was likely reciprocated since she was at the table, as family would be. He clearly intended to keep her on once mated. 

As the main course was served, it was the Lieutenant that became his conversational partner, though Jack, across from him, was unapologetically listening in between his own with Alana, and as a result neither of them felt particularly at ease in the interaction and kept their topics to the weather, general health, and the relative crowded and busy nature of the town these days. It was almost painful. 

The issue was, of course, that it was incredibly frustrating, because Will found he wanted to be away from the invasive presence of expectant family so he could get to know the man better. He had no idea whether the impulse to hoard the man was purely biology or not, but for once he was glad his rather beautiful and accomplished mother was at the end of the table furthest from the Lieutenant. Not that he thought she would try to take the man, but she did have a tendency to gather strong alphas, and for once he was on the same page as Jack in keeping her at a fair distance. For all that Jack liked and approved of the man, he didn't want a challenger to his own position in the household. 

Still, biology or not, this was at least the last time he would be so greatly chaperoned, for the first visit was always the one with the family, both for security, but also for his own comfort. It would only be Price and maybe Nathan coming with him in future, and even then they would be making themselves scarce, so used to this procedure from over the years that it was routine. 

Finally though, the dinner was over, and they retreated once more to the sitting room, though Will didn't sit, instead lingering a little closer to the door. 

"Perhaps you would be good enough to give me a tour of your home, Lieutenant Anderson?" 

He had no worry that such a request would be refused, both because it was expected, but also because he got the feeling that he wasn't the only one wishing a reprieve from Jack's intense attention. 

"Of course, it would be a pleasure. If you would excuse us please?" 

"By all means, Lieutenant. Mrs Becket was wishing to hear of our last trip to Norfolk, and so we shall aptly amuse ourselves. 

And so they escaped, the quiet click of the sitting room door dimming Mrs Becket's avid and enthusiastic response to the topic. 

In the hallway it was quiet by comparison, the lamplight far dimmer than it had been in the room, and it was a relief to be free, of sorts, for a time anyway. He followed the other man through to what would be a more informal sitting room. 

"This is the sitting room that is used the most. I have had little chance to think about decoration choices since returning. I know it is much less ornate and furnished than you are used to." 

"The precise decoration and furnishing of your home is not something I would consider judging, other perhaps than to learn more about you. What people put in their homes tends to say a lot about them." 

This particular room was comfortable looking, though, as the man had said, not particularly well filled. The pieces that were here seemed, much like the dining table had been, to be sturdy and well made, while the only non-functional items were an exotic looking rug between two seats, and a modestly sized painting of a harbour above the fireplace. 

The Lieutenant hovered a little, not closeby, but the odd pressure of his intent to speak lingered in the air while words were carefully chosen before he finally spoke. 

"Mr Graham, I would like to know how to make you more at ease, as you have not been since entering my home." 

"Only time, calm and familiarity will do that. I do not wear scent blockers when going to these meetings, as it's best if you know what you would be signing up for, so to speak. You do not make me particularly ill-at-ease Lieutenant Anderson, it is just a state for me that is more normal than not." 

A slightly troubled frown from the man, but he did not dispute it at least, as others had, perhaps having wished to be the exception to such nerves. 

"Might I enquire what you tend to be doing in the times that you are the most content and at ease when home?" 

A man of logic and problem-solving then, seeing a problem and working through possible practical ways of solving it. 

"Usually I would be reading in the library, or writing for one or another reason. I would listen to mother playing the piano, or talking with one or another of the family. Sometimes I fish or walk the dogs." 

"Perhaps then we could sit here for a while where it is quiet, and I could answer any questions you might have. Familiarity has to start somewhere, and I doubt my more usual introduction of shouting my name and rank to newly recruited Landsmen would be what you are looking for." 

Will found himself smiling at this, small, yes, but none-the-less there. 

"That would be good. Your home shows hints of nostalgia, perhaps we could start there," he said, sitting down on one of the seats by the hearth. Anderson's scent lingered on it. "The painting above the hearth, you chose it for a reason, clearly. What does it remind you of?" 

Choosing not to sit yet, Anderson moved over to the hearth, better to look at the painting in question, his hands clasped behind his back. He was, Will thought, perhaps more at ease standing in company than sitting. The painting in question was a rough pastoral of a harbour view from a hillside, that, while rough, did capture both the tranquility of the land as well as the bustle of the town below. The quality of the painting itself, athough decent enough, was not of a standard one might expect to see on show in a house. This then, in a more private setting, meant more to the man than it's relative skill. 

"It is no great mystery," the Lieutenant said, his gaze tracing over the lamp-lit impressions of small houses near the shore, and waves lapping at the beach and boats alike. "It is the harbour I grew up around. My parents were both merchants and had a warehouse there, though we lived further away from the shore. I used to climb the hill this painting was created from, and play with friends there where we could watch for the ships coming in. Some of the captains we knew, and when we saw their ship we would all run down the hill to meet them. It's frankly astonishing that none of us broke our necks doing it." 

"It's where you decided to join the navy." 

"I suppose it is, at that. Living in a port town, it's the usual thing for youngsters to consider I expect, though the threat of spending my life working the warehouse made it that much more appealing. So when I came of age and the recruiters were in town, I signed up. There were times, especially at first, that I regretted it, but overall it has been good to me. I will miss the travelling the most, but perhaps a holiday might be taken once in a while to ease that. Have you travelled much yourself?" 

He turned to look at Will as he asked the question, choosing to lean against the mantle there rather than stand without anything to soften the stance from looming. It seemed like a conscious choice rather than an automatic action. Perhaps it was, in its own way, as difficult for the Lieutenant to relax while in company as it was for Will, both of them needing to find some ease with each other. 

"Not abroad. We have the country estate we sometimes go to escape the city living, and friends we visit in York, Aberdeen and Ayrshire. Usually the family is too busy with varying projects to make time for such a trip, and I have never really thought much on it myself, though am not against the idea. Travelling of any sort does tend to put additional strain on my nerves, but it can be done, however. I was hoping to visit with Mr Price's brother come the spring. You must have journeyed quite a lot. Did they send you to many of the same locations, or was it quite varied?" 

"Most of the trade routes. We were often guarding important trade vessels, or trying to secure better landings for them. Mostly through the hotter areas down through Europe to the Aegean Sea with the Spanish trade vessels or around Africa to the East Indies. We often got to stop at the ports along the way. Life is so different there, the weather, people's clothes and habits, the food, even the styles of tableware they use is different. Some of it, the noise and the chaos of the markets you would likely find too much, but there are other places that might appeal. In some of the larger buildings in Morocco they have open courtyards in the center of buildings, sometimes with shaded pools and strange spiked plants in pots that I was told have some medicinal value. They drape fabric in long coloured sheets to keep off the sun, and although the outer walls are often white-washed, or done in beige or tan, the interiors are often brightly decorated with colourful tiles of varying geometric designs. The high walls of the houses block out much of the city noise and it can be quite tranquil within. 

The Lieutenant's gaze returned to the present to find Will watching him, some of the tenseness and sour anxiety in his scent having dissipated. Heartened by this, he moved over and took the seat opposite. 

"Perhaps it is fitting that I, who grew up around many exotic goods of trade would end up travelling to their places of origin. In many ways, the vast differences in culture there only added to the allure of them. It is one thing to see an item and know it is different, but it is quite another to remember the other world from which it came." 

"Who would guess that behind such a stoic mask, lays a man delighting in the extraordinary. Quite opposed to the norms here of being dourly displeased with everything. It suits you." 

The Lieutenant offered a mild smile, still perhaps unsure of how much he could really show of such differences, especially to a man of upper class breeding and status. But it was a start, a tentative acceptance that might bring a greater truth in time. 

With a growing sense of ease, they spoke of such places, of the allure of locations, of busy marketplaces, serene temples, the heat hazes that seemed to make things shimmer like liquid and the way that the oceans seemed to stretch forever when travelling. Will recounted memories of tranquil walks, of watching storms crash waves against the harbour from the warmth of the home, and the tree he used to sit under that seemed to him as a child to have roots that must reach into the very center of the earth, such was it's size. 

So it was that when the knock came at the door, it was a surprise to find that a full two hours had passed without his realizing, and it was time for them to go. 

In his coat at the door, both Alana and Jack having already stepped out to the carriage, Will looked up to the Lieutenant. Some of the ease they had managed while alone had disappeared when back within company, but enough still lingered that allowed him to offer his hand without difficulty. The Lieutenant's hand was rough and calloused from a lifetime of work and combat, but his lips were soft enough against his knuckles, the touch leaving Will a little breathless with the flurry of excitement the touch brought. He mentally berated himself for reacting like a boy only come into his adulthood, and managed to give his good night without faltering over the words. 

It was good, and when alone, the night had gone well. Sitting in the carriage watching the darkened streets pass by, he missed the low mellow scent of the man and the unassuming company. It would, he thought, be no trial to spend his heat with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter has a couple of references to places and culture that may not be as strictly true in our world, mostly referring to Anderson's travels. In our world, the British Navy would not be found guarding Spanish trade ships, and the buildings in Morocco are slightly different etc. Chalk it down to the changes that history would have made due to the biology etc, or artistic licence :)
> 
> Another thing I would mention is that it will likely not be until the end of December, or the beginning of January that I will be posting the next chapter. Both my beta-readers are massively busy with overtime right now, and the run-up to the holidays, and chapter 6 also has things that I want to spend some extra time getting right without as much of a pressure of deadlines. In the interim, there will be a xmas-themed agony uncle post I will put out at the beginning of December.


	6. Crime and Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - In the first section of this chapter, there is a crime scene that involves a murder. Skip to the section that starts with 'Bloom Residence' to avoid it.

**_London - Thursday 15th October_**

The waiting was one of the worst things. Usually in a place of quiet, Will could relax and de-stress, but there was none of that to be had here, where the air of the static carriage was suffocating in the knowledge of what was to come. It was worse for the fact that he never knew when he would be called out, nor how awful the situation might be. He might be left waiting for hours, as had happened before when Jack couldn't get the rest of the police to leave quickly enough. 

No one was to know that he got in help with solving the crimes, and certainly not from whom. If anyone found out, it would be a scandal of vast proportions that their family might never recover from. People did not, after all, subject omegas to traumatic situations purposefully. 

Unless of course it was Jack Crawford, whose need for solving murders and getting the promotion for 'the good of the family' overruled such humanitarian concerns. 

It wasn't even like Will didn't understand the harm this was causing him. He did, all too well. But when what he could do was able to save lives, his own already compromised psyche seemed like a worthwhile gamble. He knew he was likely broken beyond repair for his own sub-gender, the toll of years without being able to bond with a mate showed that all too clearly. What were another few cracks in a shattered glass, when his understanding might save others from a similar or worse fate? 

He kept telling himself that as the time moved on in the silence of the unmarked carriage, the well-meaning concern from Price, who was sitting opposite, a usual thing. 

"We should go home." 

The words from the man were said without any real hope of them being heeded, having had made many such comments in the past. Will didn't disagree. There were far too many reasons why that was the good and sensible thing to do. 

"I know," he murmured quietly back, their voices barely there, not willing to have questions asked by others, should they be heard. He knew, but that didn't stop people being killed, deaths that could be prevented if he could just understand their minds, as well as that of the killer. 

Across from him, Price was unhappy and seemingly unable to restrain the scent and feel of it from infusing the carriage. But they both knew why he had to do this. 

The knock on the door made him jump a bit, but that was the signal that the coast was as clear as it was going to get. 

Fastening his long coat up the front, he drew up the hood and secured the obscuring cloth over the lower half of it, so only his eyes were showing, and even then, they were in shadow. It was a familiar device in towns, unremarkable enough not to be questioned, and, much like the heavy use of scent-blockers by him, hid his identity from any of those around. 

One last glance to Price, assuring himself that everything was in order, before he stepped down out of the carriage where Jack waited. For this he couldn't take Price with him, and it was best the man never see the full extent of what he was subjected to. 

"Seems the season has started early this year. We think its the Ripper Artist. Go look. Tell me what you see." 

As always, Jack was demanding and to-the-point. If anything, he was more harsh out here where others might see or hear, lest they think he had brought in a civilian, or worse, an omega. Will silently thought that, if the man was given enough reign without social norms, he would have been subject to much more of this without the mediating presence of the family or society in general. 

As eager as he was to be away from the attitude that could be domineering and caustic if riled, he was also leaving behind his only backup. Alone out here to face the monsters in their own minds. Jack had been wrong before about the identity of the killer in the past, and Will was divided on what he was hoping he might find. If it was indeed the Ripper Artist, whose chilled precision distanced himself from the victim, it made it easier for Will to bear the process, but on the other hand if it indeed was the Ripper, then there would be little to find, and little hope of catching him. The murders would likely continue unabated by his insight. 

He followed the path trampled by many feet, and he could pick out at least eight, which meant that this hadn't just been handled by Jack, but by the current head of the police department Mr Deakin. That alone told him that this was going to be bad. 

Every time, he forgot how bad it was, no matter how much he tried to prepare himself. He didn't want to have to look, nor did he want to have to witness it through his imagination, the killer, or the victim. But he would have to do both. He knew that. 

It was unsurprising that he was trembling, just glad for the over-thick coat that hid such motions. 

His footsteps halted of their own accord, having been following the footprints of one of the visitors here, probably a lower ranking policeman from the shape of the boot, one that didn't match the head of police, Jack or Zeller. 

This, he decided, was far enough. He would be offered a good view, for many had paused here to stare. It was obvious. He didn't want to look. 

But he did anyway. 

The body was set in a small wooded area, a glance around telling him a park of some sort, for they had certainly not travelled enough out of London for it to be anywhere else. It was easy enough to understand why this place was chosen, considering the victim had been made into a sort of gruesome tree using the bones from his own limbs. 

There was no doubt that this was the work of the Ripper Artist. The work was too clean, too precise and steeped in meaning for it to be by anyone else. The Ripper had been hunting in London for years now. Too meticulous, too clever to get caught. Sure, he had a certain way of doing things, and a style that was near impossible to mistake, it never helped catch him. Or her, really. No one knew what gender or sub-gender they were for certain, only other facets about the kills. 

Winter, for example, was the time they hunted the most. It was always in sets of three kills, but a winter might have many such sets, while any killings during the rest of the year were rare in the extreme. This murder here, done late at night, would have been lit by strong moonlight, for it had been relatively cloud-free, and frigid as a result. And although the area was clear of it now, it was very likely the place had had a coating of frost when it was done. There would be more of this, in the coming days or weeks, if history was to repeat itself from previous years. 

All of that didn't detract from the fact that even now Jack was waiting for answers, a silent but thunderous demand at the edge of the area, and only that distance because Will needed some peace and calm to let himself see things clearly enough. That would be the most important here, because the Ripper Artist was no casual criminal or enraged individual who made mistakes. There was likely, as always, to be nothing here to find that the murderer didn't want to be found, and he had to find something to placate Jack with. 

With shallow breaths to take in as little of the scent of the decaying corpse as possible, he let himself take in the scene around him, the finished piece, then slowly retreat in time until he could imagine the scene as it would have started, the park in the cold evening air, the moon shining down and the crisp sound of frost beneath feet as the unconscious man was manoeuvred into place. 

\-- 

The body is heavy, despite the fact that I have already amputated the legs. He is still alive, of course, as my skill would not let him expire before I wished it, and his infractions are such that he will gain no escape from what I have planned. Not for a while yet. 

Yes, this place will do very well. Sheltered enough in the trees that the city around almost seems far away, and that alone grants me time enough to do what is needed. This is the first of the season, and while all of my work is exceptional, it is better to make a larger statement with these early ones. My art, after all, should be viewed by others, even if they are largely unknowing of the true complexity and beauty that they see. 

The man is starting to regain consciousness as I finish securing him upright on the cold earth. Stakes driven in deeply to the ground and tied to his body so that he cannot slump and ruin the effect. Or struggle effectively. 

I have carefully selected a patch of ground that has some thicker undergrowth so that while he is naked, those viewing need not be disturbed by the crass vision of his genitals. 

The night is quiet, no matter that he is conscious now, for I have taken the liberty of cutting his vocal chords. A delicate manoeuvre, and at another time I would have been pleased by hearing his pain and despair, but I don't wish to be rushed tonight, and with what is to come, I don't wish him to drown himself in his own vomit if I used a gag, should what I am to do causes such an upset. No, that wouldn't do at all. His method of death has already been decided upon, planned down to the last detail, and I will not have something like that cause such a disruption. 

He struggles ineffectually, perhaps hoping that the change of scene may have improved his chance for escape in one way or another, but he should know better, especially after the time spent with me already, getting him prepared for the journey. Too much blood and mess if I had done it all here, after all, and I needed to prepare the bones from the legs, hands and feet properly for best effect, stripping all the meat from them, and securing them with fishing wire, to be added later to the rest. 

I have more of the wire here now. Such useful stuff, and so easy to get ahold of. Untraceable in it's very mundainity, and so fine as to be nearly invisible in the air. I secure some to the trees around, satisfied that their branches will hold aloft my latest creation. It is fitting. 

Ah, but now the preparations in the area are complete, I turn my attention back to the man. Time to make something better out of him. 

His arms, previously tied behind his back, are bleeding from his struggles, the severed wrists having pulled the severed flesh a bit, but that doesn't matter, as they were never going to remain even that whole for long. 

My cuts are precise, leaving some meat and tendon on the upper arms, enough so that the taper to the bone isn't abrupt. I secure them to the wire, ensuring that they remain raised. He is still alive, despite all this, though barely, having slipped in and out of consciousness during the process. He may not remain so for long though, and judging the tasks still remaining, I take up two of his leg bones and strangle him with them. I don't crush his throat as some amateur might do, but instead cut off the blood flow to the brain. It doesn't take long. 

Resuming my work, the smell of the man's bowels emptying what little is left in them doesn't bother me. Natural fertilizer you might say. 

In the moonlight I carefully strip the lower arm bones, my knife never slipping or erring despite how dark it is. I know the human body too well, or perhaps merely bones. I don't wish them to be marred by such sloppy work. It would be beneath me. 

I secure the cleared bones to the ones already raised, both the leg and arm bones, as well as that of the hands and feet, into the arch of tree boughs I had planned. They hang there, white like snow-covered branches, arcing down in part to wrap around the man's own neck, holding his head aloft. 

He did this to himself after all. 

I pause to take in my creation, but it still lacks. Taking my knife, I carefully cut away slices of meat and skin from the torso to look far more like tree-bark than it did previously. I don't trust those who view it to have adequate vision to understand the reference, and so I am making it clearer, but it also satisfies me, this melding of skin and meat, beyond that which I would usually do. 

Yes. This is what I want them to see. I am proud of this one. It is a worthy start to the season. 

\-- 

Will came back to himself, staring at the corpse, the iron, self-assured confidence of the killer slowly slipping away, leaving him only looking at the victim. The one whose torture had been hours long, whose screams and hope had been utterly stripped away. 

It was that, rather than the murder itself that had him shaking, his arms wrapping around himself in self-comfort. It was too reminiscent of his own struggles, for although he was not being butchered at the time, the powerlessness and voicelessness were the same. 

"Well?" 

Jack, of course. For all that he was glad of the familiar presence, he could have done with more time to compose himself and his thoughts. But that tone didn't allow for such things. Jack wanted answers. Now. 

"It's the Ripper. Amputated the legs and hands somewhere else then brought him here alive to finish. Cleaned the arm bones here though. Skilled with knives and bones. Could be a butcher maybe, or a chef, but they knew how to keep the man alive long enough to do this. Army medics are trained like that, or doctors. They are strong, to lift a man of that weight without great issue, so I would lean towards army medic, or someone who regularly takes exercise for strength. It's probably an alpha, but alphas tend to have far stronger emotional responses to those that anger them, so it might not be." 

"You aren't really telling me anything we didn't guess from previous years. People are going to die. You need to give me more than that." 

"I can't give you what isn't here. I can't perform miracles, or create evidence or answers that aren’t there.. I don't know, Jack. The fact he has been made into a tree is important, that's about all I can say right now." 

"More important than the fact he appears to have strangled himself?" 

"I think so. The tree icon and where this was done is part of what they are trying to convey. It's only part of the story though." 

"You're saying we just need to wait for the next death for more answers? Unacceptable!" 

Will had to use all his hard-fought resistance not to cower back from the man, even though that was what almost every part of him was wanting to do, especially considering what he had just gone through, but it was too dangerous lest they were seen. That Jack didn't even seem to be trying to limit his anger towards him and the situation in general just made it that much more difficult. 

He managed to change the motion from shrinking away into merely turning from the alpha then, having not looked up into his face. He had no more words for him, his throat having closed up, his thoughts ceased like machinery with an obstruction. His need to get to safety was almost all-consuming. It was easier to walk away when he couldn't see Jack staring at him, and while the man could call him back, and had in the past, it seemed like Jack perhaps had grasped that he was pressing too hard to get any more answers today. Will was not an alpha that could merely be shouted at and have answers demanded of him, and no matter if Jack thought he was overreacting or not, there was nothing more he could give him today. 

When he got to the waiting carriage, it was with a hand on the door that shook so badly that he fumbled the latch, before he pulled himself up into the nondescript carriage, and rapped on the panel behind him when he was seated to get them to set off. Near instantly the whole thing lurched into motion, taking him away from the place, and what was in it. 

Private as this was, he was not home, and he was not safe. He knew that such things would be long in the coming, not only because they would have to take a convoluted route home to ensure that no one was following, but also because what he had seen would not merely flit from his mind, but linger, heavy and choking for days and weeks to come. 

Price was still there. An unhappy presence opposite, but he didn't look over to him, much as he hadn't to Jack. He left the hood and it's veil on, allowing himself to hide, this time, in what small ways he could from having to deal with his family's expectations, worries and disappointments. Price didn't mean to pressure him, out of them all, but his worry was a grating thing at times like this when all his attention was set on not shattering apart. 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Saturday 17th October_**

It had been two days since Will had been pressured into viewing the crime scene, and while he couldn't say that he was feeling greatly better, he was at least well-practiced at finding ways to help him function as best as could be expected. This largely constituted him avoiding people as much as possible, and trying to forget the entire thing. 

Unfortunately for him, Jack seemed to have focused his mind upon the fact that should he manage to capture the Ripper, his promotion would be assured, something that meant a lot to the man considering he was hoping to get Alana pregnant this season and would want a higher stable income. No matter that such a capture was about as likely as Will waking up one day and having no mental instabilities, this was what Jack seemed driven towards, especially with the winter season of Ripper killings just starting. He would be unlikely to change his mind. 

It was little wonder then that Will was making himself as scarce as possible, for although he had little doubt that Jack would find him should a murder happen, he was not willing to put himself through anything else right now if he could help it. Should Jack have him easily at hand, and think it expedient to ask him to look into something rather than doing it himself, he would. 

Which was one reason he was , even now, not in the warmth of the house, but out in the stables with the dogs. 

They lived out here with the horses, a fact he had never liked since their move to the city years ago, but he'd had to concede to since he was not in charge of such decision-making. Alana and a couple of the senior betas had decided that the extra work in keeping the house clean and smelling fresh to the standards expected of society here, was too great to justify the dogs staying inside permanently. 

That was not to say that they were never allowed in, but such times were rare, and Will often missed the tumble of dogs playing in the house, or merely sleeping lazily around the fires or on the bed. Even the country estate had disallowed such things. 

For all that Will missed the dogs' understanding company in the house, he couldn't say that they were not content out here, nor were they suffering for it. The stables had been purposefully built abutting the back of the kitchen, the large chimney there kept both the horses and the dogs amply warm, even in winter. 

No, it was more that he just missed them, and would have liked to have them close when trying to do things around the house. What with it having been raining earlier, he knew better than even asking, for the scent of damp dog did tend to linger, at least until they had been properly bathed and dried, and the household seemed ill-inclined to facilitating that with all the social functions going on in town right now. In all honesty, Will didn't even know if he was feeling up to traversing the minefield of family needs and subtleties right now to even try. 

Still, with his lecture tomorrow, something long worked towards and vastly important, he had to find something to lift his mood a bit, something that require little of him, and so he had sent a request to the Hargreaves household to see if they were available for him to come and visit the pups. 

As the months and years passed, and the family estate became less restful for him with the changing of the lead family alpha when Jack was accepted, he needed something that was just for him. Trinkets and gifts were fleeting, possessions that might be sold or claimed by the family should circumstances prompt it. He wouldn't put it past Jack, especially after he 'squandered' his courting ball gifts. But there was no way that even Alana at her most demure, would allow Jack to take a puppy from him. Puppies knew nothing of social pressures, and could revel in the simple pleasures of life without reprimand. Such things held an appeal that he sorely needed right now, something innocent and joyful after everything lately. 

So it was that when Peter Glen, one of the family betas returned from the shopping trip to town, one in which he had detoured to hand in the request, Will was excited to receive the note in response. He would have to change of course, but perhaps leave the scent of the family dogs on his hands for the pups to get to know. Or he could bring one of the many dog toys that were scattered around, that might be better, for puppies always seemed to go through so many of them with their sharp little teeth. 

Except, when he opened the letter, it was proved to be an unnecessary thought, for Mr Hargreaves was, apparently, not home that day to receive him, and had left no word on when he might return. 

Will thanked Peter for going out of his way, but no, he wouldn't be needing the carriage after all. 

He listened to the retreating footsteps as he moved to settle on the blanket with the dogs, his mood, briefly buoyed as it had been by his intent to see his pup, fell once more as the adrenaline that might once have been used to make the trip, drained away. 

Winston came up, pressing in against him until he obliged to stroke him, already hearing Jack's voice from within the home. In his current mood, it felt all too fitting that despite being a grown man, it was he that was relegated to sitting in the stables to avoid the alpha who had taken over. He was, after all, the one who didn't really fit here any more. Much like the dogs. Brought out only when he was presented correctly, or was useful. 

Before his thoughts could get any more maudlin, Mr Glen returned to the stable door. 

"Mr Crawford is calling for the carriage. If you come in by the kitchen, you will be able to bypass all the kerfuffle. Mrs Platts has made some of those little pies you like." 

Will smiled a little, and hauled himself up, patting Winston a bit in regret from having disturbed the dog, who had made himself comfortable by laying over his lap. 

"Thanks, Peter." 

He was thankful, not only for a way to further avoid Jack and his expectations and demands, but also for the reminder that the family did still care for him, despite the extra work and stress he put them through. 

This thought in mind, he brushed himself down, knowing he was still smelling of damp dog and covered in fur, but nonetheless still made his way through to the kitchen, the warmth of the place surrounding him as he picked up one of the small meat pies on his way through, taking the narrow back stairs up once he heard Jack was heading towards the front door. 

* * *

**_Hargreaves Residence, Merchiston Wynd, London - Saturday 17th October_**

George Hargreaves liked to think of himself as a level-headed and practical man, on most occasions at least, but some days he found himself astoundingly unable to be those things. This was one of those days, and, as was usually the case, his brother was the cause. 

Richard Hargreaves, younger by three years, and head of this household having moved from their parents' home some years ago seeking to improve their lot. He had gone with him, as much because Richard would need an able beta to run his household as anything, and he had wanted his own space away from the daily struggle to keep the family fed, that they had both grown up with. Their moving lessened the burden on their parents, while hopefully improving their own lot. After all, while there were inevitably more bills to pay, at least Richard need not worry for the extra expense of a servant to run the household with George there. 

They both knew that their best chance of success would be to find an omega for Richard, to guide their household, but Richard had always been ambitious, that alpha drive to better his position that was always there behind every thought. Often such things tended to be the cause of their disagreements, for unlike his brother, George would be more than happy to find himself in a position where daily life and adequate comfort were assured no matter how high or low in society that was. But Richard wanted more. Always more. 

Sitting himself down at the table next to the window, he let himself take in the morning view beyond the expensive glass. Much of the noise of the street still filtered inside despite the barrier, aided by the silence that surrounded him. 

No. He would not think about that. 

The house, sitting as it did facing the length of Pulley Street, gave a good view of the hustle and bustle of humanity. Carriages passed by with a never-ending frequency, and the shops had the constant traffic of people. Unsurprisingly the haberdashery was one of the busiest, as people desperately sought to better their chances during courting season by the purchase of new ribbons or trim, by the making up of their clothing, or the embellishment on a hat. It all seemed so far removed from his life as to be a dream. 

An argument down the street nearer midday, some posturing and straight-backed tension until it disperses. A woman in a pretty dress drops a box she was carrying. He has no idea if her day is ruined because of it, and wonders what was in the box. Her face is hidden by her hat as she gathers it and hurries off once more. 

The smell of meat pies as the pie-cart moves past with an agonizing slowness that calls to the hunger long set aside. 

Later, down Merchiston Wynd, the lamplighters have started their rounds, the first few on the far side lit in the slowly dimming light, when the front door unlocks, the clatter of boots, the thud of a bag dropped. His name is called, but he stays where he is, silent. 

Three men come out of a side-street, their laughter can be heard, just, over the clatter of horses hooves, street chatter, and the voice behind him. 

"Why have you started a spring clean so early? The place looks positively barren! Is the dinner nearly ready? I'm starved!" 

The mirthful gentlemen on the street have paused to talk to a couple they seem to know, an easy conversation by the relaxed and open body language. 

"No." 

"What? Why not? I swear, I leave for a couple of days and you seem to feel it a holiday! Come now, some bread and ham will do very well, and don't be so morose. You have not even welcomed me home." 

George Hargreaves drew his eyes away from the lives beyond the window to the darkened room in which he sat, and the man there. 

"Eight days. And there is no bread and ham." 

"A few days, whatever. Why do we not have ham?" 

"With what money should I have bought it? The housekeeping allowance you give me on Sundays while you were away?" 

"Ah, well, I dare say we can get something from the chop-house tonight then. Send Miss Smithson, they always give her more." 

"Again, with what money? And I cannot send her anyway. She left." 

"Gods man, do you not have any good news? Here, for goodness sake just go get us some food!" 

George looked down at the meagre offering of coins on the table, then back to his brother. 

"That is all you have? That is all you brought back?" 

"Yes. I'll get more tonight. Not every gamble pays off you know." 

Richard Hargreaves was starting to bristle, but George was so far beyond caring right then. 

"Yes," he said, the cold anger in his voice giving the alpha pause, "I know." 

He picked up the large envelope from where he had set it beside him, and put it down on the table next to the coins that would struggle to buy one night's meal. Outside, the lamplighter had made it to them, and the glow from the post outside filtered enough light through the window to read by. Just. 

"You have ruined us, Richard. They took everything." 

"What do you mean everything? Who?" 

George just stood there, his arms crossed, the evidence sitting between them. A signed bet, legal documents from the debt-collectors that had been arranged and visited. George watched as his brother looked down at the letters on the paper, his own writing and signature clear enough despite the low light. Each subsequent addition added in handwriting that became more of a scrawl. Bets made with amounts that they simply didn't have. 

"You just couldn't restrain yourself, could you? They took everything because of that. Not just your own, but mine too, because I am not a paid servant, but family. You will find not one item in this house of any worth that is our own, only those belonging to the landlady remains. Even the spare clothing and bed linens are gone!" 

"No, no no no. This can't be happening! Everything was going so well!" 

"Yes, until you started drinking too much when gambling and lost it all. You even gambled away the dogs!" 

"Yes, well, the pups 8 weeks now and will be fine without their mother. I am sure you said so." 

"It was twelve weeks I said. But you don't need to concern yourself over that because they took Beatrice as well to cover the remaining part of the debt." 

"Wait, they took all the dogs? All the puppies? No! Why didn't you tell them one was Mr Graham's?!" 

Incredulous, but honestly not surprised, George looked at his brother straight despite the aura pressing down around the room. He was too angry himself to be cowed so easily. 

"I did, but unlike the bets, you didn't actually leave any proof. And seeing how I was on my own with Miss Smithson at the time, there was nothing I could do against a lawyer, and two debt-collectors that had legal right to enter and do their jobs. I have never been so humiliated in all my life as I was that day. And you were not to be found. Seven days I waited for you, not knowing if you were even returning. Seven days of living off what few scraps of food were left from last week. I had to go to one of the community halls yesterday for a roll and soup when the hunger got too much!" 

Faced with the very real failure to provide for his family, Richard's anger dissipated, his frustration at the situation swallowed back in lieu of attempting to make amends with his brother. 

"Look, I'm sorry. This weekend will be better. I'll get us some new stuff afterwards." 

"If you want me to stay, you can pay me wages. I'm not willing to lose everything again. I don't even have the box that grand-sire gave me any more." 

"What?! I'm not going to pay you wages like a common servant. You are family!" 

"Then I will find someone who will, Richard. If you had paid me, we would not be looking at being destitute in two weeks. There would still be food in the house, and I would still have my belongings, and we would have Beatrice to make another litter next year. As it is, we have nothing!" 

"So it's like that, is it? Things get a little rough and you just up and leave?" 

"Like you did this last week? I supported you through everything! Where the fuck were you anyway?" 

"Ended up at Mr Laverick's estate, out of town." 

"Have fun did you?" 

"This isn't about fun, George. It's about building contacts and alliances. Why, I bet he would loan me some money for cards this weekend no problem. Look, why don't you go get yourself some food, then see if you can get the stain out of my waistcoat for tonight. I'll bring us back some winnings for the bills over the weekend." 

"Two weeks, Richard. You bring the money in for the bills, and pay me, or I am seeking a new household. Now give me your coat. It's cold and you gambled mine away." 

"All right, George, all right." 

He knew that this was the best he was going to get. Not much of one either. He scooped up the coins from the table and pocketed them. It was doubtful that his brother would stick to his word, even if he currently intended to. Too easy to delay payments, especially because he was so used to getting his own way. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of the ill-fitting coat, he made his way down the street and into the blissful warmth of the chop-house. Surrounded by the cacophony of conversations, he wondered how on earth he was going to find another household he could settle in if his brother's behaviour didn't change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of an odd chapter, in that the last section I had never intended to include in it, but it was written, and figured you guys might like to have a bit of background on the Hargreaves'. 
> 
> In other news, I have made a facebook page, so that readers can contact me directly about questions or if you are interested in beta-reading, as well as get updates when I post more chapters etc.   
> https://www.facebook.com/AO3thequietscribe


	7. Lecture at Foxglove Hall

**_Foxglove Lecture Hall, London - Sunday 18th October, afternoon_**

Sunday afternoon found Dr Hannibal Lecter in the large lobby of the Foxglove Hall listening to the rather inane conversations of those he was with. In some cases, he was even forced to call them colleagues. Their often dull chatter did little to quell his good mood however, no matter how long Dr Houlton, an otherwise gifted physician, related the inadequacies of the cleaning that had been done on Masons Row. 

Usually, he would have taken control of the conversation before now, turning it, and those listening, to his own preference, but he allowed himself instead to merely listen and nod where appropriate, and consider instead how delightfully his weekend had gone. 

Of course, it was also quite convenient that he keep a low profile this evening, at least at the start, for better effect later when he would choose to be noticed. 

Mr Graham, or more correctly in this setting, Professor Graham, had not yet made an appearance, however this was not something out-of-character for the man, no matter how common pre-lecture mingling was. Considering the topic of the lecture, Dr Lecter didn't doubt that he would wish all his faculties geared towards the presentation rather than something that would make it more difficult for him to do afterwards. 

He allowed Dr Houlton to come to the end of what he was saying, before drawing the man's attention to the now open entryway to the lecture hall room, people already filtering through. 

"Ah, right you are. We wouldn't want to find ourselves in a sub-standard position," the man continued as they made their way over. "Have you read the document that he is to talk of yet? I regret I have not found the time. I expect it will be interesting no matter what, as I was fortunate to get a seat for his lecture on 'Social Mobility in Sub-genders' during the summer. It was capital! I dare say he is not the most sociable of people, but by Jove he knows his stuff!" 

"Yes, I read through it yesterday evening." 

"No doubt you did. I hear you are courting him this year, and why should you not! A fine man, and as clever as his mother. Ah good, these seats will do very well, don't you think?" 

In truth, Dr Houlton was an easy companion to spend time with, as eager to be pleased about things as he was to be displeased over others, but always courteous. It was one of the reasons Dr Lecter had chosen to spend the time with him before the lecture so that he could be assured of that attentiveness to the subject being presented. Others might make irritating attempts at currying favour with him, even during such a thing, but Dr Houlton would be attentive once the mingling had ceased. That the man knew he was courting Mr Graham would also only enhance the already sturdy approval Dr Houlton had of Mr Graham, and thus help champion the cause he was speaking on this afternoon. Best that such enthusiasm be turned towards this cause tonight, rather than if he had perhaps sat with someone like Chilton, who would not be favourable to what was going to be said. 

"I don't doubt you will find it of great interest," Dr Lecter said to his companion, "It heralds the necessity for immediate change in the treatment of trauma victims. But I shall let him detail that in his own words for you. I believe that is him arriving now." 

As Mr Graham walked out, the lamps around the semi-circle of raised seats were dimmed, focusing the attention away from companions, the gracefully carved woodwork and personal conversations, and onto the soul person moving to stand in the centre of the floor. 

Tonight Mr Graham was in a rather drab and formless suit that did nothing to show his rather appealing figure as the previous one he had seen him in had presented. That was, of course, likely the point, for he would wish and need to be seen less as his sub-gender, and more of the professor he was here as. Indeed, the fact that it was trauma in his own past that had left him, so far, unmated, would be something he likely wished to distance himself from, lest he be thought of as influencing the results by his own biases. He wouldn't put it past Mr Graham's detractors to use that particular tact when discussing the findings later, for he had noted at least a couple of them from conversations in the lobby earlier on. 

Mr Graham gave no time to scan the faces in the room, but rather spoke to the room in general, his gaze coasting over the shadowed form of his audience and settling in places where people were not. Hardly unexpected. The fact that Mr Graham was here at all showed just how strongly he believed in the need for this particular issue to be heard, no matter how strong his own personal discomfort at such a spotlighted position. His voice was clear and precise, and while his words were clearly written as being more conversational in tone, his oration of those words came out more abrupt and pointed. 

\-- 

"Trauma, much like any effect that deals primarily with the mind, can be difficult to fully understand and treat. This is doubly so in the cases involving omegas, whose biology makes them far more susceptible to it, but also have a further reaching impact on others as a result. While an alpha or beta may suffer trauma, that trauma tends to be limited to themselves alone, only impacting on others when flashbacks or circumstances overrule their normal behaviour. Omegas, on the other hand, will affect all those around them due to both the higher intensity of scents and pheromones they give off, but also the impact that their distress has on all those around them. 

"An omega who, say, might take a turn of terror while in public not only is distressed themselves, but will acutely prompt betas' need to coddle and mother. More importantly for public safety, it will also trigger the protective instincts in alphas in the area. In the worst cases, this can cause violence or even to prompt rioting to break out if non-family alphas don't believe those closest to the distressed omega are doing enough to help with it. These responses are usually beyond the control of those involved. 

"For these reasons the successful treatment of omegas that have and do suffer from trauma, acute nerves and suicidal depression has always been at the forefront of medical priorities, and a topic that has interested me on a personal and professional level most of my adult life. 

"In the preparatory work for the winter lectures I was to give on the long-term effects of trauma on the family, I started to look into this subject for more detailed information, and became aware that while there were excellent records made about omegas upon release from the institutes, none of them were taken more than the 2-5 week period after the patient's release. As my lectures were to be on a far longer scale, I took it upon myself to make enquiries to interview some of the people involved in those interviews in order to cross-reference them and get a better understanding on any long-term effects of the trauma that might still linger. 

"Although initially I had intended to conduct this research myself, and have brief interviews with five or ten omegas that had undergone such treatment, enough to form a general basis for my lecture, the reactions and results of these interviews deemed it necessary to rethink this. 

"The interviews were, in the end, not conducted by myself, as we swiftly found that it was counterproductive having an omega there, especially an unmated one, as it made those we were trying to speak to too insecure and distracted by the security of their position with their mate. Likewise, having an alpha that was a stranger to them present either made the omegas nervous, or we generally found that the alphas from the mated pair were less open about discussing their situation. For these reasons, the interviews were conducted by my colleague Professor Fennel, a beta. 

"When making initial contact with these former patients, we also found, to our dismay, that many were in abject fear of being returned to the institute. Contrary to the popular belief that these places are a refuge for healing, these particular patients seem to have found the time so traumatic that even the unsubstantiated worry that we might have been from there, sent several into a state of panic so acute that we had to return another day. 

"We found it of vast use bringing in the esteemed Mr Jonathan Clamp, of 'Shand, Clamp and Sons' Lawyers, also a beta, not only to record and witness the interviews, but also to reassure those involved that we had no legal standing in which to influence their return to the said institutes. 

"As you can imagine, this reaction alone brings into question how accurate the follow-up visits were by the medical staff if those patients were not seeing the place as a safe-haven for healing, which only reaffirmed the necessity of doing these interviews more thoroughly. 

"Troubled by the reactions, what had started out as a personal interest swiftly became something far more detailed and in-depth in order to answer the questions this brought up. We wanted to know why the patients viewed the institutes as some place to avoid, so that improvements could be made. We also wanted a far greater transparency of what life had been like, both for the omegas involved, but also those of their families, during and after. If the follow-up interviews by the institute had been biased through fear of being returned there, we wanted to know what life was actually like for these people now. If their lives were not as happy and contented as we had been led to believe, only by knowing the details might we be able to improve their situations and the situations of those that come after. 

"Unfortunately, I have to report that with the exception of three, two of whom were voluntary in-patients, the fifty-one other omegan families we were able to interview were not living happy or productive lives. Indeed, a full third of them are now deceased." 

There were sounds of dismay from around the room, and he had to pause to allow his audience to settle enough again to continue. Many seemed ill inclined to do so in a timely manner, turning, much as Dr Houlton did, to inquire of their companions if they had heard of this before now, though to the man's credit, he restrained himself at the placid look from Hannibal. 

Professor Graham allowed the room a few moments to get over it's surprise, before being forced to raise his voice a little more to draw attention back to the lecture at hand. It must have cost him to do so, possibly heavily, being surrounded as he was on all sides by a plethora of alphas who were being less than discreet in their restraining their auras. 

"Although the compiled document carries all the interviews in full detail, it is perhaps best that I read an excerpt from one that is typical of those that were spoken to. 

"An alpha whom we shall call Mr X., has been with his mate for four years now after the treatment, and told us how most days are a struggle now. 

_'At first it seemed for the better. She wasn't crying all the time and she seemed content, if quiet. But I do not believe it helped her, just pushed everything, even sadness, so deep as to be unseen. It is still there though, worse for the fact that there is no warning. One time I came looking for her, only to find her pouring boiling water over her hands. Another time she calmly tried to drown herself in the bath. She smiled softly at me afterwards, and told me that the tulips would be nice in the spring, then didn't say anything else for a full two weeks. She takes turns, like she did before, but worse. There is no relief for her now, no crying, no curling in against me as she once did. Now she just shuts down in fear or distress. Becomes empty. She cannot even see me, never mind take comfort from my presence. It's horrific for us both. It's clear to me she is not happy, not even really surviving in life like this. Episodes like the bath are common enough as to happen several times a year. In truth, I am often left wishing us both gone, for she is forced to suffer this life like this, and I do not know how much I can take. One day, I think, she will succeed when I am not at her side, for I cannot watch her every minute of the day. I know not whether I will endure long after her.'_

This time Professor Graham didn't wait for people to settle down, but instead merely continued to speak, forging on with what he had to say, perhaps fearing he would not be able to restart if the emotions in the room were allowed space to grow much stronger. 

"Unfortunately this sort of story was all too common. Mrs B., whose mate poisoned herself after two years, despite having children and a family. Mr J., whose mate has ended up so catatonic that they are rarely even able to get out of bed. Even some of those who are more functional, such as the mate of Ms. F., who often meets others for tea in the afternoons goes easily into a catatonic state, or sometimes even screaming fits if exposed to non-family alphas. 

"With so many former patients having similar levels of trauma and lack of functionality after being released from the institutes, as well as the prevailing fear in most of being returned to these places, we then turned our attention to the current treatments being provided by the institutes involved. Although for reasons of confidentiality we were unable to link specific people to their case files, were were able to gather information about the types of treatments that are routinely given to cases such as those we had interviewed. 

"The current treatment for omegas, as I am sure you are aware, revolves around forcing their bodies into accepting the biological core needs of their sub-gender at their most instinctual level in order to attempt to reset the body's natural responses rather than the trauma-induced learned ones. This is primarily done using omega's heats as a doorway into these instincts as those are naturally in far stronger during those times. These strategies, I was told, are rarely deviated from, as the results of these treatments are generally believed to be highly successful. 

"Up until this point, the general consensus has been that this type of treatment, while possibly stressful for the patient in its inception, especially with removal from their home environment, swiftly overcomes this phase and delivers the anticipated results of overcoming the trauma and nerves, and heralding a calmer and more contented individual from then on. 

"Those that champion these methods will tell you that the end justifies the means, and that those who are beyond the remit of normal help from family, who are even suicidal, are better for being put through such things than not. Unfortunately, this can mean that even omegas that have been victims of abuse or even rape can end up in forced heats against their clear-minded will, and forced to endure through more of the sort of trauma that resulted in their ill-state in the first place. Although the forced heat will ensure that, during it, the omega is all-too-willing to accept their biological responses, the interviews we have here shows very clearly that the aftermath of such tactics is damaging beyond compare. 

"The untold harm such forced heats put the body through, as well as compounding on possible pre-existing abuse, can, and does, strip the omega of their will, rendering them often catatonic in the aftermath. This is not serving anyone well, for although the omega may well end up outwardly calmer, we have seen that those who have been through such treatments tend not to recover much of their sense of self, but merely become mostly vacant receptacles for whatever is imposed upon them. They may smile, they may do things, but the spark that made them individuals with life and personality will be so deeply buried as to be almost impossible to retrieve. 

"This is not merely a tragedy to the omega involved, but also to those they are mated to and the rest of the family, for they are left with this vacant half-person, unable to offer much conversation, nor interest, unable to balance the relationship as biology and society intended. 

"The end certainly does not justify the means, and it is not serving anyone well. 

"We were also concerned as to why even those in stable families were not doing better, despite whatever trauma they had suffered. After all, given a secure and stable home environment, people with trauma generally are better off. This, we found, was in fact both true and not, and some of our own assumptions were called into question. 

"Society often thinks of mating as a cure-all, but while it can often give stability and reassurance, it does not make the underlying issues disappear. It can, in cases like this, stop people from seeking the help they need, as they may feel that they 'should' be fixed now and don't want to admit to themselves or others that this is not the case. Alternatively they also might not want to admit it, to avoid the possibility that their mate might feel inadequate in providing the support should have worked. They worried that such doubt may weaken the mating, and therefore jeopardize one of the main stabilities they have in their life. 

"These were some of the reasons that we were told, by omegas themselves, as to why they were unable to confide fully in their families. Indeed, in two cases specifically, Professor Fennel was the first person they had dared to speak to about such feelings, and only then because they knew and trusted that what they said was confidential and would not impact on their life further. 

"I ask you to imagine now, what that must be like, to go for as many as 8-10 years, carrying the aftermath of trauma, and not being able to speak or feel confident enough to confide in another about it, to share that burden. This alone would only have made their situation worse, but in finding this out, it does perhaps give some insight as to what sort of support might be given to them in future. 

"As we have seen from the examples and the many more listed, this method of care, far from aiding the majority of these patients, is actually harming them further. Taking already vulnerable people out of their home environment, a place where they are biologically predisposed to consider a place of safety, their nest, and to place them to a strange and unknown location without the comforts and familiarities of home, nor the backup of family, would be bad enough. To add onto that a notedly distressing set of procedures, including forcing a heat when they are not feeling safe, is a checklist for trouble. 

"The only reason that this has gone unnoticed for so long is largely because of just how severely the individuals went into a state of distress, retreating so deep within their own minds that even the usual signs from the body that would give signal to others, such as scent, were cut off. 

"No matter how much we might wish otherwise, there will likely be no ability to reach out and help these people with the current methods. Only by taking a new, more cautious and supportive route, might they engage at all. For those that are still alive. To do that, we need more insight into the types of treatments and support someone with as severe trauma as this might be helped, rather than merely retrying old and previously used tactics that have traumatised them in the first place. 

"In short, this type of isolating and shock-style treatment of trauma in patients needs to stop, and an in-depth inquiry into other possible solutions needs to be found. 

"I propose, in addition, that it is of paramount importance that each case be treated individually, that the patient's personality be respected as well as their wishes and hopes for the future. Treatment for trauma, depression and nerves should not result in that person losing all of what made them who they are. A rethinking of the current methods is needed to find far more humane and successful treatments, rather than destroying individuals and families as these results seem to conclude. 

"It is for these reasons that I bring this report to you today, so that a reform of the treatment of omegas who are in trauma, depression or have acute nerves, can be treated more effectively and in ways that actually improve their life situations rather than making them significantly worse. Too often, the short term results are lauded without looking further on, and it must, in this case, stop for the untold harm it is causing to the individuals and families involved. 

"Thank you." 

\-- 

The applause that filled the lecture hall was mostly enthusiastic, though as Dr Lecter let his gaze coast around the room, there were some far more reserved responses from those who likely disliked the implications of the report. While many would have let the applause go on for much longer, Mr Graham drew it to a halt far sooner, his voice rising above the noise just enough to be heard. 

"If there are any specific questions about the details of the report, I will take those now." 

It was intriguing that Mr Graham seemed eager to get over the lauding of his work, though it was difficult to tell the exact reasons why in this situation and without knowing him better. It was unusual for omegas especially to be uneasy with public attention, though he knew that Mr Graham was an exception of this. Perhaps then it was an eagerness for it to be done with, his task completed, though it was also possible that the applause itself, loud in such a space, was trying on his nerves. Usually it would take violence or a threat of some kind to trigger an omega's responses, but that wasn't necessarily true for someone who had suffered trauma, as Mr Graham's report so clearly showed. Of course there was also the possibility that the man merely felt it was in poor taste, considering the subject matter. 

Overall, the questions started out pleasant enough, vague congratulations on such a detailed report, and praise for bringing it to the medical establishment's attention, followed by questions about the interview process. Dr Lecter had no specific questions, and so merely let his attention follow the room, watching for those that were clear supporters, and those who would need a bit more encouragement or silencing. 

"Yes, each person interviewed was posed the same questions. They are listed in the report in Appendix 2, as well as within each of the interviews listed." 

A lot of the earlier questions were reaffirmations like this, or so simple that it took him little effort to keep abreast of them while still allowing his mind and gaze to wander around the room. 

Dr Hardbrook's dress was distractingly hideous. While she was, apparently, trying to adhere to the latest fashion in deep purples, the dress ended up looking far more like a rotting aubergine than anything to be seen out in public wearing. The thick silk had likely cost a fair amount of money, but it was worse than wasted on such a garment. Dr Fuller had likewise chosen this most unhappy of hues for his suit jacket, and it made his face look quite pasty and unwell. There was little else of note, other than some minorly ill-mannered whispering amongst people while they waited their turn to ask a question. 

"If this is such a problem, Professor Graham, why has it not been seen before? Surely with such high instances of mental ill-health, it would surely have been noted, if not by the general public, then at least by the wider family or friends." 

Although the tone it was stated in was of a generally friendly, if curious tone, there was an undercurrent there of criticism that made Hannibal's attention more keenly focus on the man while Mr Graham answered. 

"In short, because they did not wish it to be seen. It is rare that any of them are out in society, having ended up becoming reclusive, even with wider family. Above all, either from fear or shame they do not wish to be seen as struggling, and many of their coping strategies have revolved around becoming unseen in this way." 

Having seen fit to hold off until now, it seemed like the insidious tide of discontent was starting to lap around the edges, now that the more reasoned questions were dealt with. This piqued Hannibal's interest far more, though he didn't expect too much out of them. For all that they were medical professionals, most were blind to a larger picture, and certainly not passing far from their own self-interest. Something that was easy to predict. 

Question after question continued, some more accusatory than others, now that those with praise had already enthusiastically spoken, leaving mainly those with more serious questions and criticisms to speak. 

"There are detailed accounts of each of these individuals where possible, and their mates and family in my paper on this topic. The names have been changed for their anonymity in it, but the interviews were taken by Professor Fennel, and recorded by Mr Clamp, a lawyer, to provide professional witnesses." 

It was interesting that Mr Graham's detractors appeared to be working as a group, scattered across the room that were working together in their criticism. No matter that they were not seated together, their questions seemed more strategic than solitary. A clever way to appear more numerous than they actually were. 

"No, Dr Dimmond, I cannot guarantee the truthfulness of their statements. No one could. However they would have no reason to lie, as they have nothing to gain by doing so." 

"With all the names wiped out, there is no way to verify these people even exist." 

"We had to sign legal documents guaranteeing their anonymity to get them to talk. The interviews were, as I said, witnessed by a professor and a lawyer, both professionals in their fields who will testify to the truthfulness of their existence." 

It was then that a voice from the far side of the room rose, one that Dr Lecter had been waiting for. 

"Mr Graham. You are not a medical professional, and therefore cannot know the inner workings of the treatments nor the reasons behind them. Trying to disrupt and dismantle core support for trauma victims for your own ends, treatments that have been proven to work for decades, is selfish, destructive and irresponsible." 

It was entirely unsurprising that Chilton spoke out against the findings and the one championing them, but more notable that he had waited until now to do so. It showed a far greater premeditation to the comments than an impassioned outburst would have been. The man tended to have a single-mindedness towards his own interests above all else, and in different circumstances Hannibal might even laud the man for his keen interest in survival, but too often Chilton had proven, while conniving and cunning in certain aspects, to be devoid of wisdom and intellect in others. Sadly for the man, he had set himself against Mr Graham in this instance, and that was a flaw that set him directly at odds with Dr Lecter, whether the man knew it or not. 

He should have. 

"I would remind the good gentleman that we are not here to besmirch the reputation and character of Professor Graham, but to review the evidence he has supplied for the betterment of that treatment." 

He let his voice ring clearly around the hall, his civil warning there, more as a gesture, for he didn't believe the man astute enough to take it, not when he saw this report as a direct attack on his reputation and methodology, and therefore his career and status. 

Gazes in the room turned to him, many only now noting his presence, though Chilton didn't appear surprised, his weasel's gaze likely having spotted him once they had been seated. Even across such a distance, Hannibal could make out the slight narrowing of those eyes, one that told him clearly enough that the man was indeed not going to back down, before Chilton spoke and proved that theory correct. 

"We are now to give such credence to a report written by someone whose main claim to fame is an agony-aunt column, rather than scientific proof by trained medical professionals?" 

It was disappointing, in a way, that Chilton had so thoroughly damned himself like this. A person could survive changes in their profession and social standing if they were clever enough, but such was not necessarily the case if they were particularly rude towards one of Hannibal's close acquaintances. 

"Professor Graham is indeed not medically trained. I believe you will be forced to concede, Dr Chilton, that as chief surgeon of Foundling Hospital, I am. Having read through the report in full, I can only commend Professor Graham and his colleagues in such an extensive and thorough document, one that more than adequately fulfils the needs and methodology that follow-up interviews would have provided under the current system. Indeed, there are only three other similar reports into trauma sufferers in Europe written in the last decade, and none of them spanned the number of individuals involved, nor went into the depth we see here. I could only wish that other reports we get could go into such detail. So no, I have no issue, Dr Chilton, in this report being used as grounds for the reform it asks for, and in my opinion, must get. If we, as a society, ignored new evidence of a better way of living, then you can be assured we would still be living in mud huts." 

There was general amusement at this, lightening what otherwise might have been seen as either a vindictive dig at a colleague, or merely a man blindly defending the one he was courting. Both were true, though he was not blind in this, indeed, he was perfectly cognisant of the fact, but it was best to leave such a rebuff in amusement to best silence the man. Anything he could reply trying to re-engage his position now would merely appear childishly naive, and Chilton, while sometimes inept, knew enough about political and social survival to keep his mouth shut. 

There were not many questions after that, and he was pleased to note that they were in by far a more civil tone than those directly before. 

With the lecture now done, Dr Lecter and Dr Houlton made their way, not to the exit as some others were doing, but to where Mr Graham was gathering his papers and likely wishing he could make a quick exit, but knowing better than to try. The content of his report was critical, but in order to best succeed in getting the changes he wanted passed, he would have to further win-over those that came to speak with him. People were fickle, and without that lasting impression that he was talking to them individually, counting on each person specifically to help in this matter, it would be far too easy for them to count it as another person's problem, and mentally dismiss it from their own agendas. 

Thankfully Dr Houlton would provide ample voice of his dismay at the situation as well as his public support of the change, turning people's attentions towards that viewpoint while allowing focus on the fact that Mr Graham was lingering to talk to people, enough for others to come forward. 

Oh, he didn't doubt that the man was very much wishing he was elsewhere, but if this meant enough for him to go to such lengths to research and then present the findings, then it was best done properly, no matter the discomfort. If Mr Graham was to be his mate, he would endure through this to see the result he wanted, and if he crumbled, well, his mate needed to be more resilient than that, and Dr Lecter's search for one would continue. 

Dr Houlton did not disappoint in his reactions, for he launched quickly into his chatter to Mr Graham. 

"Professor Graham! Oh what a dreadful business this is! Why, I was just telling Dr Lecter before we entered, at how much I was looking forward to your presentation, and by Jove you did not disappoint! Of course you have my full support in this matter. Anything you need, just send word my way and I will see to it with much haste! Imagine how long this terrible situation has been going on, it just beggars belief! Why, I shall tell my dear mate of it tonight and she shall be beside herself with the need to help in any way she can, you can be sure of that!" 

"Your support is very much appreciated, Dr Houlton." 

"I could do no less! The rigours and passion you put into your work is a credit to you. But alas I cannot linger today. We are to take our visiting cousin to a courting ball tonight and I cannot be late. Be assured however that any resources we have that might be of aid to you in this will be at your disposal, you need only ask." 

"That is most gracious of you. Thank you." 

As Dr Houlton left, offering his goodbyes to them both, Dr Lecter took the momentary reprieve before others stepped up, to offer his own affirmation of support, and to ensure Mr Graham knew that it was not merely the courting that was the cause of it. 

"Threatened positions and reputations will make some resistant, but the thoroughness of your work will ensure it is not swept aside." 

"I hope so. The institutes are meant to help people, not traumatize them further." 

Their attentions were turned towards three more that came with congratulations over the uncovering of such a situation, as well as some questions. While it was clear though that Mr Graham knew the subject-matter well, his responses were becoming a bit strained, his thoughts showing not to be quite as sharp. It was a common symptom of stress, and so Dr Lecter stepped in to fill the gaps with his own knowledge of the material, having studied it at length for just such a purpose. 

"And what of these other reports you mentioned earlier, Dr Lecter? Do they offer any further insight?" 

"Not much, I am afraid. The first was a study of the impact of sleep in trauma victims of all sub-genders, and other than concluding that depriving it below six hours a night was detrimental to physical and mental health, something that could be said for anyone, it offered little. The second was the relative study of patients' well-being and stability when being transferred from an older institute in Germany to a newer one where the location and some of the protocols were different. That one, although the patient numbers in the study were small, did offer some general observations that might guide an inquiry made into different techniques. They found a more humanitarian approach yielded better results than ones the patient may dislike and thus resist. The third was a study on the relative effectiveness of different post-trauma techniques but was focused on alphas returning from wars, rather than omegas. Despite this, some of the recommendations may be of some use to look into more. In general though, I feel any recommendations be based on fresh approaches that can be proven to help those involved, rather than relying on these older reports for a framework. Especially after such a catastrophic failure to the patients involved, we should not rely on old and incomplete data to push forward treatment. Much like Professor Graham's report, the thoroughness of the investigation into new forms of treatments should be paramount." 

There were few others who actually required any real sort of precise response. Most merely wished some point of contact, and the couple that were unconvinced of the necessity for change at least went away willing to reconsider that stance in light of the seemingly positive responses to the call for it. Chilton, he noted, had decided not to linger. 

By the time Mr Graham caught the eye of his family alphas at the side of the hall, Dr Lecter considered the situation well managed to Mr Graham's hopes in the matter. 

"Come, Professor Graham, let us get your coat. I believe there is no pressing need to linger now." 

Moving to the cloakroom, Lecter allowed the time for the other man to gather his thoughts. He himself was in no rush, and allowed this to show in the slow, leisurely pace of his steps. By the time they got there, the foyer was mostly empty, allowing them a measure of privacy he had relied upon. 

"Thank you for stepping in with Dr Chilton," Mr Graham said at last, presumably having been meditating on such a statement of gratitude up until now. "I had known he would likely dislike my recommendations, but it still threw me off more than I anticipated." 

"It is of little matter. His comments were best restricted to the confines of his own body, not shared out as if it should come with a cry of 'gardyloo'." 

Will was quiet for a long moment, not disputing the statement, but clearly not as pleased with how the night had gone as he should be. In the end, he sighed, a sound of frustration as he drew on the coat that Lecter had carefully avoided getting handed to him by the cloakroom attendant. Mr Graham should, after all, feel some manner of agency in his life still, without the aid of others. An illusion, to be sure, but one that Lecter was willing to gift him with for now. 

"I knew he, or someone else would likely say stuff like that," Mr Graham said, clearly stressed and overwrought enough to have let his language slip into a far less formal manner, despite the setting, "but I should not need anyone to come to my rescue, not only because I know the different answers to give, but also because no matter the differences between people, communicating effectively is something omegas are noted for." 

The unadulterated frustration in his tone, low as it was not to carry past them, was crystalline in the air, fragile in those shimmering chips of self-worth and pride, and just as beautiful in their potential. 

"Yet not everyone is the same. By your own words, omegas and alphas are biologically dependant on each other in ways that affect their roles in society. I would not have gone to the lengths you did to research and compile that report, nor would any in that room today I would guess. Is it so wrong then that someone whose skills and passions lie in the driving force behind a project would find compliment in someone who can present and guard it for you? I am not typical in my skills as an alpha, just as you are not as an omega. Should I take your hesitance to give yourself some reprieve as a notion I would have been better challenging Dr Chilton to a duel of fists instead? No?" 

Lecter smiled at the apparent embarrassment mingled with something perhaps like relief. It was more difficult to tell with the amount of scent blocking ointment the man had used today. 

"Please put it from your mind," Lecter continued as he opened the door to the Bloom's carriage for him, "You will find me quite uncompromising in my willingness to view you as you are and be pleased with that, rather than what you feel you ought to be. I wish you a good evening, Professor Graham." 

It was the first time he had used the title for him, and yet the hope and intent was that he would not have to do so for long, in private at least. For now though, he had a home to get back to, and a dinner to plan. He had not missed the way that Mr Graham's eyes had lingered upon him as his carriage had pulled away. Overall, it had been a very successful trip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **gardyloo -** an obsolete word that was used in Scotland, in some cases up until as late as the 1930s and 1940s. It originally came from the French expression “Prenez garde a l’eau!”, which means 'beware of the water'. It was used when people on upper floors of buildings, especially tenement buildings, threw out slop buckets and the contents of chamber pots out of the window onto the street below, having no indoor toilets. It was shouted to warn passers-by.


	8. Brothers and Rivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Era-specific language:  
> 'Never a feather to fly with' - to have no money  
> 'Fustian nonsense' - rubbish

**_Bloom Residence to Benjamin Layton's Residence, London. Thursday 22nd October, evening_**

In the hallway, as Will pulled on his coat while the carriage was being brought around, he considered Humphrey. As Alana's previous head alpha, he had been in control of the household for most of Will's life before Jack Crawford came along. 

Much like the quiet in the area right now as they got ready to go out, it had been a stable, understated sort of life, for all that Humphrey and Nathan had significantly elevated the Blooms to their current higher status in society. 

Humphrey Layton was a man who, by way of his quiet but firm certainty, guided the household, rarely ever raising his voice, but whose demands were felt just as keenly as any other alpha of status. He did not like disruption in the house, nor would he stand for values and morals being besmirched or tainted by circumstance or choice. Standards should be upheld, and propriety and sensibility should always be adhered to. If his disapproval was felt, it was felt keenly in a gaze that told you you should have done better, and expected you to do so. 

So it was that Will was left to wonder what Humphrey's brother was going to be like, for unlike Jack, Humphrey had said nothing on the matter of Will's decision to include his younger sibling in this season's courtship bids. Like any other dinner for a courtship suitor, Humphrey had merely gone about his business in ensuring that the trip was organized and done in a timely manner, leaving Will to wonder just how much, or how little, he was invested in the possibility of having Will mated to the man, for it was difficult to tell either way. 

"Humphrey?" 

Will called him over, his voice not raised, for there was no need to, despite the usual bustle to get everything sorted. For all that he could often see far more than others into people's motivations, it had been a spur of the moment decision to ask directly, and as the man came over with measured steps, Will found himself fiddling with the button of his coat. 

He wasn't intimidated by Humphrey, not in the way that Jack could manage, but the slender man was as close as he had to a father since the accident, and there would always be a greater sense of respect there, one that had been demanded in the careful organisation of the household to those exacting standards. When the man got to him, he merely waited for Will to speak, patience there, as there always had been, for Will to say what he needed to in his own time. 

"Do you think this is a good match? You know him better than I do." 

Aware he was fidgeting badly, he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets to still them, not because he thought that Humphrey would disapprove of it as such, but because he wanted, had always wanted, to have the approval of the man. That wasn't to say he didn't have it, but he was often aware that he was not the sort of omega that Humphrey would likely have hoped for in the family. Too nervous. Too unsettled. This wasn't a new thought, nor would it change for almost any alphas, but the drive to be better for the one who had raised him was strong. 

"Your choice is your own, Will. It is not for me, or anyone, to second-guess or pressure your choices in this matter. Only you can know if this will be a good match. If you like and enjoy his company, then I will support you, as I would any that found your approval, but should you not find his company enjoyable, then do not let my being related to him to sway your judgement. I wish to see you happy and mated, not enduring the company of a poor match. Come now, the carriage is ready, and we should go lest we are late." 

To say he had expected anything different from the man would be wrong, but that calm certainty was reassuring if nothing else. He walked with him to the carriage, where Alana, Price and Nathan were already waiting. It helped his nerves, that reassurance that Humphrey would not openly disapprove if he didn't find the match to be good. He might be disappointed, at least a little, but he would not hold it against Will, and that eased his mind. He had found himself questioning such things far too often lately, since Jack had joined the household. They were, after all, quite different. 

With everyone dressed and ready to go, they settled in the carriage, with Nathan driving, and with a slight lurch they were off. This was the second of Will's courtship meetings, another formal dinner that he would have to endure, though perhaps with it being Humphrey's brother, there might be a more familiar atmosphere than he feared. 

\-- 

"Take this back to the kitchen immediately! The plate should be warmed so the food on it stays hot. I will not stand for this level of incompetence!" 

Will watched as the servant apologized and took away the plate back to the kitchen, her shoulders showing the tension that had been present since entering with yet more platters of food, her eyes slightly glassy from being spoken to in front of others in such a way. Mr Benjamin Layton seemed oblivious, or at least uncaring. 

"I apologize for that. It is so difficult getting decent servants these days. You would think at the price I pay for them, that they would at least be of a better standard to not make such basic errors." 

They were seated around a rather large, circular table, with Will to his right, and Alana to his left. It had been surprising, initially, that it was only the host and their group that were at the table, with none of the beta servants being offered a place, but Will was no longer surprised. This was a far cry from the more friendly company that Mrs Becket supplied at Lieutenant Anderson's house, for they were forced to make their own conversation around that of their host. This, in itself, would not be a problem, except that Benjamin Layton seemed to have rather strong views that were not tempered with nearly so much forbearance as his brother had. 

As this was the second course of the meal, it was Will who was subject to answering such comments, for being a formal dinner, conversations were limited to those with whom you were sitting. Alana had been their host's conversationalist during the first course, but now it was Will's turn, and he was struggling a little to monitor his words enough to be polite without encouraging such things. There would be no help from the rest of those at the table either, for it was considered the height of rudeness to interrupt another's conversation at formal dinners, and so he could not rely on anyone but himself to find the right words. 

"You have set an extensive table for us. Even the most dedicated kitchen staff would struggle under such a demanding meal most likely, and what they have achieved here is very impressive." 

In this he was not exaggerating, for Mr Layton had made what could only be considered a banquet for them that could easily feed at least triple their number with ease. It was a pity, considering the sheer amount of food, that his nerves tended to make his stomach uneasy at the best of times, and the needless condemnation of the servants had not improved this. In truth, Will would much rather be giving his compliments to the staff in question who had produced such an impressive spread, but it was only Mr Layton here, whose money and demands had furnished this feast. 

"I require the best at my table, to be sure. Think nothing of the scale. What is wealth if one does not enjoy it, after all? Such expenses are well invested, for much like entertainments such as the opera, to do less would be to receive less in turn. I could have gone to see something at one of those pantomime establishments, but having decided never to lower myself to such a thing, instead I viewed Arie dell'Opera di Rinaldo, and was very well pleased. There was such drama, such intensity, that I would have been a far poorer man to have missed it, rather than paying more to see it. Have you had the chance to go yet?" 

Will shook his head, for in truth while he might have liked to have seen such a thing, much of a trip to the opera had nothing to do with the singing and acting, but instead on the public see-and-be-seen, and even in the more prestigious buildings it was loud, smelly and entirely too packed with people leering and gossiping. It had been many years since he had been to one, having avoided them entirely after Humphrey, Nathan and Andrew had nearly ended up in a pitched fight when another alpha had dared to slip his arm around his waist when they were on their route to the exit. The sheer overwhelming nature of the experience in the building had been bad enough, a fight had even broken out in the footman's gallery where the cheaper tickets were, but to add the press of people and then the vastly presumptuous action by the stranger had been too much. To this day, he was vastly glad for Humphrey's presence of mind to prioritise getting him home, rather than indulging in his instincts to attack someone who dared disturb his family. 

"I have not had the opportunity lately to see the opera," he said, skipping around the edges of a lie merely to avoid speaking of it. Opportunity, like truth, was a multifaceted thing after all. 

"A travesty to be sure! Why, there is nothing like the opera to immerse oneself in the arts, with the acting and singing showing such dedicated sincerity and poise, the upper caste of emotion and grace. Nothing like the pantomime or low-grade theatre productions, certainly, wherein they display very little above the common denominator to appeal to the unwashed masses. Why, the actors in those are little better than gypsies themselves, and it's best to stay far from those people as is generally possible!" 

"I can't say I would know." 

"You are better that way, I can assure you. None have a feather to fly with, and they are untrustworthy, the lot of them. Thieves to boot! Why, even the ones that don't take it from your pocket directly will do so by those fortune-telling booths that are so popular right now at fairs. A load of fustian nonsense if you ask me." 

"Have you been to one yourself to gauge their effectiveness then?" 

Will knew he was most likely to get another monologue, and while he knew little about gypsy travellers one way or another, he would not bring up the possibility that he had heard they tended to be very religious, and as such the fortune telling may actually be a manner of gift from that deity. One did not discuss religion at the dinner table, or indeed generally, for it was an extremely private matter in society. It was tempting though, but he was aware he seemed to be inclined towards being contrary with alphas lately, especially alphas that seemed to believe they knew everything. Jack was having a bad effect on him. 

"Certainly not, though I have heard from many people such varying accounts as to be highly suspect, especially since those that go tend to want to believe it works, and will talk themselves into thinking it does. It's all trickery. Why, even the more equitable public lectures on spiritualism and the occult are mainly clever guesswork. I went to one last year, as much for entertainment as anything, and found it to be far beneath the educated to consider. I hear you had your own lecture on Sunday past, and that it was very well received. I regret that I was unable to make it, but by the time I found out about it taking place, the seats had long since been booked. Were you pleased by the reception it garnered?" 

The question had been posed at an inconvenient time, when he had just taken some roast duck, and so he was forced to delay answering, while Mr Layton watched him eat until it was polite to respond. He was uncomfortably aware of the regard, especially due to the fact that it was highly probable that neither of them actually had very much investment in hearing the answer. He should, during this time, have been working out the perfect wording that would be both gracious and cultivated, offering enough for interest without going into too many details that would bore the man, but all he could think of was the almost excruciating regard as he chewed, aware of each movement of his jaw, and trying to get his face to an approximation of appreciation for the mouthful when the expectant gaze merely made his stomach turn in a discomforting way. 

"It was received well," he said at last, not entirely answering the question, "The majority of those that came were receptive to the cause, being physicians or those in the field of medicine and care. There were obviously some detractors, but overall it seems positive for the changes." 

Will specifically didn't list the cause, not only because it was an indelicate topic to speak of at the table, but to do so would be to assume the man did not know what it was, which, even though it was likely that he did not, it would be rude to show that assumption. It was also a rather convenient way of passively getting the other man to turn the conversation away to something else, rather than making that ignorance known. 

Perhaps it was with a touch of misanthropy or cynicism that he assumed Mr Layton would be much happier in his self-absorbed monologue, but as he sat listening to the trials and tribulations of the field of the law and lawyers, Will was regretful to acknowledge that his instinct was generally correct. He nodded and made enough comment to show his attentiveness, and otherwise merely attempted to calm his nerves so as to not make everyone in the room uncomfortable. 

For all that he had tried to show his respect for the mountain of food on offer by trying little bits of each, if anything, the amount left over almost seemed even greater than when they had started. The richness of the meat and sauces had not helped his overall consumption, for while such things were pleasing on their own, such richness tended to oversaturate the senses, so it was better to sample only small amounts. But no matter how he tried, there was simply no way he could eat any more, and the last thing he wanted was to insult their host and his own family by revisiting the meal a second time in the privy. Setting his cutlery aside, he took a sip from his glass, trying to clear the taste from his mouth, but even the beverages on offer were on the strong side. 

"Ah, is everyone finished then? Let us retire to the large sitting room while the servants clear this up." 

They got themselves up; a couple of the servants were there to offer any aid as was appropriate, though they largely stayed out the way. Will was very aware of them, because for all that they were trying to disappear, likely how Mr Layton liked it, he felt bad for them. They had managed such an incredible feat in creating such a banquet and would likely get no credit for it if the earlier comments were to be considered the norm. 

"Yes, the food was lovely and impressive in its complexity. It is a pity our stomachs were not of a greater size to have more of it, but at least the servants will benefit from the excess." 

He gathered his drink, not wishing to have yet another one pressed upon him, while the others also complimented the food, which was only good manners, but also the truth. But it was to him that Mr Layton's comments were directed in response as they moved out of the dining room. 

"By no means! They made several errors tonight and I don't see why they should benefit from my entertainment when they are already being paid. No, I will likely just have the food thrown out, at least then they might learn." 

Will was not the only one shocked by this, as a quick glance to Alana reassured him. Indeed, such wasteful behaviour and mean-spiritedness was not at all what they were used to. Even Humphrey, who had so far said little to his brother, in part because of the formal dining setting, seemed unwilling to let such a comment go. 

As they moved through from the dining room, the sitting room they entered was indeed a large one, and the decor, much like the rest of the house was set in rich background tones that were clearly meant to highlight the furnishings and paintings within it. 

"If you will not give it to the servants, then at least one of the poor houses would welcome it." 

Will could pick up Humphrey's tone, which was the one that he tended to use when tempering another's thoughts as diplomatically as possible, but for all that it was meant to do so, Humphrey's vocal demeanour did tend to instil a sense of moderated disapproval whether he was trying to do so or not. While Jack tended to just ignore Humphrey's tone, knowing his own position was higher, and the other family alphas tended to mitigate the disapproval in other ways, it was clear from the sudden spark of irritation in Mr Layton's aura that he was not used to dealing with it like that. 

"I shall do no such thing! Encouraging such a parasitic relationship in such people will do no good, no good at all! These sorts of so-called charitable acts only reward those who have not the care to work for themselves. Should we next offer them our carriages, open our doors so they may take what they please? No! Rewarding them in such a way only traps them further in their squalor, encouraging them to think of merely taking what others have worked for, rather than earning a better position through their own graft and effort." 

Will carefully avoided looking at Humphrey, for there was clearly a history behind the two brothers for the man to react in such a way, either taking it as an affront to his own beliefs or trying to use such a topic to show his own dominance in the house. It would do no good to draw attention to the stand-off. Humphrey, being the better mannered of the pair, said nothing as his younger sibling went about losing some of the good opinion from those in the room. He had, after all, tried to temper the comment, but with poor result. Will could imagine well enough the slightly bland look on his face without needing to check. 

"Perhaps while dinner settles, you would be so good as to show me your home, Mr Layton?" 

It was a somewhat obvious deviation from the topic, but one that could not be ignored, considering this was one of the reasons to come here today, and he doubted Mr Layton would balk at being able to show off his house and all its contents. 

"But of course! Let us leave such depressing subjects behind. If you will excuse us please?" 

With the general acquiescence of those in the room, Will followed Mr Layton out, hoping at least that the man would be involved enough in giving such a tour to offer some respite from having to field questions that might put him at odds with the man. Not that he felt in any danger from him, but the sheer demand of his views was such that it made it difficult to counter without getting a strong rebuttal he would find difficult to deal with. This was something that was likely going to be increasingly trying on his nerves if he were to even attempt to refute beliefs that he did not hold, rather than let them sit and leave the man believing that he shared those views. 

To hand it to him, the house was indeed lovely, if a little dark. Will was so used to living in his family's home, where many rooms were of a far lighter palette, that it was interesting to see a house with nothing of the sort. Most rooms were in darker hues, lit by lamps to highlight the various belongings therein. He could certainly see the appeal of having rooms that tended far less towards the pastel shades, but the company of the man beside him was not something he would likely trade it for. 

They were in the study presently, one that was pleasing enough for what it was, though there were far more spaces clearly denoted for showing belongings. Small statues, curiosities and the like, were placed in prominent display. 

"This is the study. I had the bookcases made specially. You can use this room for your writing, no doubt. There should be no need to make any changes to the decor, as it is close enough to what you are used to." 

The fact that Mr Layton seemed to feel that his becoming mated to Will was a foregone conclusion only spoke poorly for his manner of observation, something he had thought the man might have been more skilled at considering his profession as a lawyer. But it was also the high-handed way he seemed already to have decided what Will could and could not change about the house that spoke just as ill of him considering that if they had become mated, then Will would have owned the entire house and its belongings, to do with as he saw fit. 

He soothed his own irritation with the knowledge that Mr Layton was still young and had clearly surrounded himself with those of lesser status who did not have the dominance or will to countermand his opinions, and so he would not be used to considering things outside his own sphere of belief. This was something that had shown clearly throughout the night. 

"It is indeed quite similar to the study at home," he offered, about as close as he was willing to get to answering the presumptuous comment, but Mr Layton didn't seem to mind, or even notice the omission. 

Room to room they went, with his host being rightfully proud of his home, but seeming to care little about Will's own opinions on things, except if he were to agree with him. The man would likely end up with quite a submissive omega, or one who was far better than Will ever was at making their wishes and demands known and followed. 

"I had these rooms renovated by the eminent architect and designer Robert Adam. I would have had him design the rest of the place, but he had been engaged finishing Lansdowne House at the time when I moved here. I think you will agree though that the work he has done here is exceptional. Such detail and thought put into even the shape of the cornicing." 

Will agreed that it was indeed a lovely redesign, and not be half-hearted in that regard. The designer was someone whose work he had admired in the past, and he recounted as such while Mr Layton drank in the praise as if it were he who was owed it. 

Moving back into the sitting room, he could feel the gazes of his family on him, but he didn't look up except to check which seats were vacant. The fact that a single-seat had been left unused near Price said much about how his family knew him, and echoed his own intuition that had he been seated next to Humphrey it might have caused some unintended rivalry to resurface between the two brothers. 

"And here we are, back again," Mr Layton said as Will moved into the room with him, listening to him as he made his way over to the seat. His host could find rest in one of the other ones nearby. Considering the lack of thought to his own viewpoint during the tour, Will didn't feel particularly bad about clearly choosing to sit alone rather than on one of the sofas where they might have sat together. "This was one of the first rooms I had renovated and redecorated when I bought the house. It used to be in the most awful shade of green and smelled of cats." 

"Do you not like cats then, Mr Layton?" 

"Heavens no! I have no use for pets of any kind. Horrible smelly creatures that track fur and other things into the house. Entirely insufferable! I would no sooner bring a pet in the house than I would a random vagrant." 

Ah, there it was, the classic Humphrey sigh of slightly frustrated disappointment. Faint, to be sure, but no less clearly heard for that. 

A glance to Mr Layton showed that he to had heard it, and perhaps for the first time this evening, something akin to hesitation showed on his face. 

"Of course," the man amended, "I am sure we could build some manner of kennel out back if you were particularly enamoured of the creatures, though I don't see the appeal myself." 

"I doubt that will be necessary, Mr Layton." 

This seemed to return the man to his previous confidence, as ill-founded as that was. Will was barely listening to the continued monologue about the house and it's various renovation works that the man spoke of, instead glancing over to where Alana sat. He was done with the evening. Had been for quite some time if he was to be entirely honest, and she was probably the best for extracting them at this point. 

As she took up the role of conversationalist, he let her familiar good humoured pleasantness wash over him, the largely routine politeness and social norms being an easy thing to slip himself into, following her as they moved out of the room, gathering their coats and making their farewells at the doorway before ascending to the carriage. 

The entire evening had been an endurance, no matter that the food had been good and the house pleasing. He was aware of the family's gaze flitting to him on occasion as they travelled back home, but they didn't ask any questions, likely seeing far more clearly than Mr Layton ever had that he was entirely done with conversation tonight. 

Home, and perhaps to read a book for a while to settle his nerves before sleep, if he could. Assuming he had not had a vast change of mind by the morning, he would ask Humphrey to relate his denial to his brother, rather than writing a letter or returning in person. A letter would be too impersonal considering the amount of effort the man had put into the dinner, and he didn't think he could endure seeing the man again so soon without speaking more frankly and causing some manner of negative gossip as a result. 

He could just imagine it now, 'Why, did you hear what Mr Graham of Bloom said to the poor Mr Layton? Such a shockingly rude utterance to be sure! That family has fallen quite far if they have lost all manners in such a way!'. Best, indeed, that Humphrey go, whose skills in diplomacy were beyond his own, and perhaps, with time, the breach, or at least distance between the siblings, might be mended somewhat. 

* * *

**_Benjamin Layton's Residence, London. Friday 23rd October, morning_**

"What do you mean, that I am no longer in the running in Mr Graham's courtship? Unthinkable! Have you not spoken to him, or is it that you have and poisoned his mind against me?" 

Humphrey leaned back in the seat in his brother's house where he had sat the previous evening, when he had watched him so easily lose what possible appeal he might have garnered from Will with his thoughtless choice of words. 

"I can assure you I have said nothing to him on the matter. Mr Graham came to me this morning and asked that I would relate his decision about you myself. Truly, Benjamin, he is not a good match for you." 

"And why is that? Is my house not good enough after living most of his life in yours?" 

It had been many years now since they had had anything approaching a mutually agreeable relationship, though he had not thought to find this level of hostility from the man. Certainly, there had been some rivalry in the past when Benjamin's awe of him in childhood changed when he presented as alpha, but it had clearly festered into something more in his brother's mind. He regretted that, for all that he had not been aware of the fact to a greater extent. 

"Indeed not. For all that he has been raised in a large household that is fortunate enough to afford many luxuries, Mr Graham truly cares little for most of them. His head is not turned by wealth and opulence other than as a way to secure privacy and security. I tried to tell you this before, but what with our more colourful discussions in the past, along with the type of company you are used to surrounding yourself with these days, it does not surprise me that you waved it off as a ridiculous notion." 

"I refuse to believe he has rejected my suit just because I have a well-appointed house." 

No alpha truly took denial well, and Benjamin never had, so it wasn't a great surprise that he was reacting like this now. 

"You would be correct. Your beliefs on certain subjects and rigid thinking are far more likely the cause. I know you see a great deal of the dross of society in your employment, but to make such comments at the dinner table was extremely foolhardy." 

"You would have me lie to his face then?" 

"I would have had you use a great deal more forethought and diplomacy than I saw yesterday evening." 

"Pandering to everyone around you has become the norm it seems. You have grown weak in your old age." 

"I am no longer the head of my household. It changes a person. But really Benjamin, it is common knowledge that nearly all omegas are drawn to humanitarian concerns, and Mr Graham is well known not only for his charitable donations, but also his voice of moderation in society. You are better seeking someone who shares your values far more closely than Mr Graham ever would." 

"I had no idea he had fallen for such idiocy, as you clearly have. Such insipid do-gooding only perpetuates the slovenly, work-shy attitude that weakens our society as a whole. If what you say is true, I would want nothing to do with a person so blinded by ill-conceived notions of charity. I had expected better from your household, Humphrey, but it seems my faith in your raising him well was in error." 

"Why must there always be this antagonism between us? I would see you just as happily situated as I have been." 

Humphrey could see the anger in his brother warring with something else that he remembered all too well from their earlier spats when Benjamin had still been young. A calculated cunning that, if he recalled correctly, tended to be entirely selfish in the origin of whatever he was about to ask. Still, it was better this than the anger, for if his brother's words reached past a certain point when speaking of his family, Humphrey would likely be unable to restrain himself from physically reminding him of his place with an unrestrained fist, and he had no wish to do that, truly. 

"Very well, so he has turned down what I have to offer. It is probably for the best, as you say. Would you then write me an introduction for someone else?" 

"Of course, if they are known enough by the family to make it feasible. I can only hope you put your considerable talents towards researching your quarry far better than you did with Mr Graham." 

* * *

**_Till Residence, London - Friday 23rd October, evening_**

The Till Residence was one of moderate size, but had little else to recommend it. Certainly not it's current occupant at any rate. Mr Till had taken a little time after dinner to go about his tasks, ones that typically seemed to be dealing with paperwork, then drinking a fair amount before turning to his bed. That he did not even see to the security of his house at the end of the night, leaving it instead to his servants to do so, was a shameful thing, though the man seemed to think nothing of it. 

As sounds of slumber filled the room, quiet now of the man's odious consciousness, Hannibal got up from where he had seated himself in contented comfort behind the dressing screen. The wait tonight had been negligible, for the man was a creature of habit, something that had made this entire endeavour almost an act of tedium. 

Shoes already having been removed to silence any minor sounds the expensive leather might have emitted, he made his way across the room, a glance given to the now snoring alpha, but it was a needless caution, for nothing short of screaming servants would likely rouse the man to any extent. 

With a pristine handkerchief taken from his pocket, he lifted the decanter and carefully wiped away any lingering residue. Although it was unlikely that anyone would question either the slumber or the subsequent repercussions of the man's bid for the delightful Mr Graham, he would never leave such a thing to chance. Like a ghost, his presence might leave a sinister chill of unspecified foreboding if someone were astute enough, but nothing more. 

Downstairs, he could hear the house servants moving through their various evening routines, noisy enough that they would never have lingered in employment in his own household. He could grant them that at least the crystal and glassware were clean. It would have been an insufferable waste of his time if he had had to manufacture dirt or spotting on the decanter merely to make it look the same as the rest. There was also no need for him to see to the replacement of the liqueur still in the decanter either, for even though it may have become ever so slightly tainted by the touch of the sleeping draught he had placed around the rim earlier that evening, time would erase any lingering trace of it. Nothing would be found of it in a couple of hours, time enough that even if the watch were called now, it would long be gone by the time they thought to take it to a laboratory. 

Replacing the decanter, he stepped carefully over the floorboard that had a tendency to squeak, something likely brought on by the fact that it was on the side that the man used to get in and out of bed. All that excess weight was bound to have some effect on the woodwork after all. Moving to the side of the bed where Mr Till lay, he looked down at the gaping-mouthed imbecile who was utterly oblivious to the danger to his person. The man would forever remain in such a blissful state of ignorance. It was just a pity that he would never know the error his actions had instigated, even for a short time. 

In truth, it was only the very real determination to give Mr Graham a worthy gift that stayed his hand from murder. The world would certainly be better off without such a man, but whether Mr Graham knew of his actions to withhold from passing final judgement on the other suitors or not, it didn't lessen the value of it. One day he would know, and on that day, fully mated and knowledgeable of Hannibal's nature, the true impact and thoughtfulness of the gift would be made clear. Hannibal was a patient man, after all. 

From the inside pocket of his coat, he withdrew a metal case and opened it to reveal the syringe within. It was one of the finest that money could buy, the craftsmanship not merely in the precision of the body that held the liquid, but also in how very thin the needle was compared to the more common counterparts. It was so thin in fact, that depending on how it was used, and where, the puncture on the skin might never even be noticed, even if it were sought. During an endeavour such as tonight, the purchase was proving that it was money very well spent. 

Once assembled, he filled it from a small glass vial, the second of two he had brought with him tonight. The clear liquid was entirely innocuous looking like water, so clear it was. Above all, it was indeed mostly harmless, but it's effects would very much be felt. 

Hannibal allowed himself a smile as he raised the trouser-leg on his victim, carefully feeling the fattened calf for the correct placement of the gland there, before injecting the syringe's contents into it. The man was so deeply asleep that he didn't even rouse as the full contents were pumped into him, nor when his visitor stood once more, carefully putting everything back in their places. No, such a man should never even have attempted to think himself on such a level as to bid for Mr Graham's attention. Worse still had been the man's gift of perfumer's fragrance that had quite covered up the delicate and tantalizing scent of Mr Graham himself when Hannibal had met him only five days before. That had, in fact, been the only sour note on his afternoon. 

It was perfectly fitting then, he thought as he checked around the room once more and retrieved his shoes, that Mr Till be subject to an undeniably detestable smell as retribution. 

The gift that Hannibal had left lingering in the alpha's scenting glands would spread from one of them to the next like a virus, although a mostly harmless one. His body would start to combat it, even as it would linger for as much as two or three weeks, darkening the glands themselves, and, much more fittingly, creating the most odious smell that could not be adequately covered up, as the microorganisms tried to multiply and fight off the body's defences. Entirely naturally occurring usually, much like a common cold, though less frequently seen, there would be no reason to consider any foul play. 

Slipping past the balcony doors, closing and re-engaging the lock behind himself and putting on his shoes, it was the work of moments before he was walking along the street once more. Oh yes, Mr Till would come to regret his scent all right, for he would either have to continually subject Mr Graham to his now hideously smelling presence, or he would have to delay seeing him until it had cleared up. Two or even three weeks was a long time during courting season, and no matter the cause, would conveniently score him off Mr Graham's list. 

It had been an easy night's work, but despite the lack of meat for his larder, Hannibal couldn't deny a certain pleasure from such elegant repercussions. 


	9. Regrets and Intentions

**_Bloom Residence, London - Sunday 25th October, afternoon_ **

The house around him was mostly quiet, which was unusual these days. Alana and Jack had gone off visiting in the early afternoon with Andrew and Jacob, many of the betas also going to visit family elsewhere or do some shopping of their own. Nathan, Zeller, Price, Mr Harris and a couple of the other betas had taken the children out to one of the parks in the second carriage. Which, overall, had made the house rather empty, with mainly only Will and Humphrey in attendance. 

Humphrey had taken up residence in the study, which had left Will to settle himself in the blue sitting room, which had enough light at this time of day to work on an old clock he had been tinkering with for a while now, until his own guest would make her appearance. 

He glanced over to the large grandfather clock on the other side of the room, not for the first time. Visits always left him unsettled, especially the waiting for them, knowing that at any given moment the person might turn up, or that by the time he started to do something that they might be due to do so. Usually he managed all right with Beverly, being far more informal and undemanding in many ways than others might be, but it had been a couple of hours now since he had managed to get any work done on the clock. Ever since he had received the second of two letters. 

Both now sat on the desk, and would be innocuous and pleasant in the mundanity, but for their contents. 

The view outside the window that his gaze fixed upon was much as it ever was, with the immaculately trimmed grass that bordered the small grove of trees, hints of the boundary wall to the right. Theirs was a large set of grounds, considering they were in the centre of the city where land was at a premium. 

It said much for Humphrey's skill in asset management that he had managed to gain such a place before mating with Alana. Will had always wondered why the man had decided to come to an accord with Nathan all those many years ago, joining in their bid during the courtship process when Humphrey clearly had the dominance, as well as the financial and situational advantage. It was, perhaps, as simple as wishing to please her with the company of a far more personable alpha, one who would not be a threat to his position. For all that Alana had clearly liked Nathan by adding him to her courtship options back then, alone, he had been unlikely to have ever stood much of a chance with her. Not after she had been victim to an attack. He simply wasn't dominant enough. 

Humphrey was like that though. In quiet actions, he saw to the family as best he could, and Will didn't doubt that having this accord had likely only strengthened his own bid for her, no matter what others might have said. 

The sound of a carriage brought him out of his introspection, his nerves returning full-force from the brief reprieve of consideration. 

At this stage in the courtship, when he was in the process of visiting the alphas in their homes, it was common for a family member to do some discreet checks on them, acting as sentinel on their behaviour outside of the controlled environment of the meetings. It was usually an alpha of the family who was close enough to the omega to understand their needs, but not close enough to be unduly biased. Will wasn't entirely certain that Beverly fitted the last criteria, but she was his friend, and he didn't think she would do anything to harm his courtship. 

That being said, Beverly had agreed to this with a somewhat worrying amount of enthusiasm. 

Today she had been out to watch a series of outdoor lectures in town, one of which had been done by a Mr Cosgrove, one of Will's suitors that he had not had a chance to visit with yet. Many might say that considering a merchant as a suitor was degrading for an omega of his station, but the man had been so openly friendly and pleasingly disposed, that such societal concerns had bothered him little, especially since Mr Cosgrove had properties abroad where the critical eye of the upper classes would not find them. 

It had surprised and pleased him that the man would look to public speaking as a way of improving himself, but he supposed perhaps a merchant would already have had some skills in this area already, and he could well imagine the friendly, passionate man to be decently good at it. Will had been tempted to go himself to watch, but the lectures there tended to be an extremely crowded place, and he couldn't risk becoming over-stressed or ill because of it, not with so many things that required his attendance. So Beverly had proposed to go instead and report back how it had sounded. He had expected her to like the man, for they both seemed to be fun-loving in their own ways. 

Which made the fact that one of the letters that had come this afternoon all the more disappointing, because it was the man's withdrawal from his courtship. 

Will honestly didn't know what to make of it. He had not even had a chance to meet with the alpha in person for his first courtship date, and yet on the very afternoon where he had been speaking, when Beverly was in attendance, he suddenly decided to withdraw. Not even a visit in person, either. It seemed too well-timed to be a coincidence, and so he was left to wonder, as he had been ever since receiving the letter, whether she'd had something to do with it. Had her playfulness gone too far? 

He intended to find out, and that inevitable confrontation was now far closer at hand, considering he could hear her distinctive stride down the hallway towards the room. His hands were shaking. 

Beverly came into the room like she owned it, all bold strides and effortless aplomb. Her presence made the large and otherwise quiet room seem that much smaller for her being there, like it suddenly struggled to contain those within. 

"What an afternoon I have had!" 

She paused, and although he wasn't looking in her direction, he could well imagine that ever so slight tilt of her head as she took in the feel of the room, and him, before her tone changed tact. 

"Come sit. I bought some of those licorice sweets that you were hankering after, and Peter said he was going to bring up some tea. Did you know that the plant that licorice comes from was used to treat stomach upsets, ulsters and inflammation of the stomach? I had no idea!" 

He did know, of course, as she likely understood, but he couldn't disparage her use the imparting of knowledge to try and make him feel more comfortable. As he turned and reluctantly moved over to sit, a glance to her showed her usual friendly and boisterous manner, with a mostly hidden tint of concern over his current state. No visible sign of guilt there, which was heartening. 

She talked on about a subject he knew enough to barely pay attention to, as she usually tended towards doing when he was in need of space to settle. But he was unable to today, something that became clear as she didn't continue after a while. 

"Will, what has you so troubled today? You didn't even hear my terrible joke about Price's underpants." 

Sometime, Peter, he assumed, had come in and there was tea and some small food items on the table between them. He felt bad for not even thanking the man, not even noticing he was there. Something he would have to remedy later. 

What was he to say to her though? There was no diplomatic way he could currently think of, other than to just come out and ask to know whether she had meddled with his suitor. He didn't want to hurt her, or insult her, but neither could he entirely dismiss the fact that it was well within her remit to do such a thing. 

Instead, he got up, and moved over to the other side of the room where the letters sat, and picking them up, he took them over and sat once more. He fiddled with them more, before just pushing one across to her. An intelligent woman, she would understand, and he forced himself to watch her, as she picked it up and start to read. She was often good at hiding her feelings, but he was paying attention now for those minute tells that would give hint at what she might be thinking. 

It seemed an age while she read, though that was likely only his perception, for the letter was not long. Finally though, she spoke, and it was with relief that he saw her slight change in stance that denoted her feeling pleased, though not necessarily self-satisfied. 

"I can't say I am surprised, considering this afternoon," she said, looking up at him from the paper, her canny gaze watched him for a moment, "Ah, you thought I had maybe something to do with it? Rest your mind, for I never even spoke with the man. Have some tea, and let me tell you of my day. For all that you are probably disappointed in the letter, it is likely for the best." 

"So after you asked me to act as your sentinel this year, I arranged a meetup with Dr Lecter, and agreed to go together to see the speeches. There is no time like the present, and for a man like that, I wanted to hear him more in idle conversation with only myself around. 

"I met with him at the Wildflower tea room, which had an excellent vantage of Saviour Square, where the speeches were taking place, and we sat on the balcony overlooking it, and was able to hear the entirety of the speeches, though most were rather dull." 

"What was the point in meeting with Dr Lecter in a pre-planned outing?" he asked, slight frustration in his tone. "The entire point of getting someone to act as sentinel is to catch the suitors unprepared, or during their usual actions." 

"I wanted to see what his conversation was like, but also to gauge his reactions towards a potential rival." 

"And how did he react?" 

"With far more restrained amusement than I did, but I am getting ahead of myself." 

She paused a moment, to gather her composure, though he was well aware that she was perhaps far too eager for someone to listen to her. 

"Dr Lecter and I chatted for a while, at least until Mr Cosgrove's speech was to commence. He was well dressed when he came out onto the stage, and his manner was friendly and engaging. I would even say he was far better than those before him. He was speaking about an issue with Trade Tariffs, and how they impact badly on small businesses and households, especially those of low incomes. Disproportionate on the profit gained, due to broad standard base tariffs, or something of the sort. He was making a good case. 

"But, oh Will, never since Mrs Lily Penelope started to fling bowls of soup in a fit of exuberant anger in the middle of the Hayward's summer ball, have I seen someone so heartily destroy their own social standing, so completely, and in so short a time as Mr Cosgrove did." 

Beverly couldn't quite keep the delighted glee entirely from her voice, though she did make an attempt, but it was clear that not only was she unable to withhold the expression, she was also going to amply subject Will to the entire telling of the situation that had buoyed her mood so markedly. He really wished she wouldn't, but knew that if he wanted answers about the man, he was going to have to sit with forbearance through the retelling. 

"About half way through his speech, it became clear that the topic was more than just a passing fancy for him, for he seemed energized by the attention of the crowd, and eager for them to understand just how important he felt this was. His voice became more raised to reach better, and he began to gesture more with his hands, as he he told stories on the impact of the families involved. 

"If he had left it to this, I dare say that he could have come off well from the experience, but he was clearly not used to public speaking on this scale, not used to the rush that having so many people heed him. The audience reacted well, and this only encouraged him more. 

She sighed in sweet remembrance, before mentally shaking herself enough to continue. 

"I suppose I should feel sorry for the man, but oh Will, it was glorious! He started to stride back and forth along the stage, gesturing wildly as he pleaded and harangued the audience about he fates of the poor working class families who were being devastated by the tariffs. In his fervour, he clearly mistook the crowd's enthusiasm as support for his ideas, rather than him being the best entertainment they had yet seen all afternoon, poor man." 

Beverly didn't sound nearly so sympathetic as her words implied, her own mirth at the alpha's behaviour was far too evident, and Will cringed. He could well imagine the impassioned response from the man, the flush of power and almost euphoria of being listened to and responded to by the public in such numbers was a strong draw for anyone, not merely alphas, but they, more than the other sub-genders garnered far more satisfaction by being acknowledged as someone to lead the way. 

"By the end of his speech, he had tears of passion running down his face. Tears, Will! We saw it all, of course, both of us having brought opera glasses. I think it was the crowd's laughter that brought him out of it in the end. It was a sight worthy of the best opera and theatres to be sure! The way his passion and fervour just crumbled in mortification when he realized what had happened. It was really something to behold. He left the area directly afterwards, and really, who could blame him." 

She shifted a little in her chair, her own impassioned retelling coming to a close and likely realizing, much like Mr Cosgrove had, that the person she was with was not nearly so enamoured of the story as she was. Will's scent was likely souring the room considerably at this stage. 

"So your fears, dear Will, that I was in any way responsible were unfounded, as you can see. He did it himself." 

Will nodded, looking down at the letter that sat between them. 

"It's sad," he said at last, while Beverly helped herself to one of the small sandwiches, "I can see why he thought to leave for his property abroad to continue his business where he would not be noted for the error, but that he did so with such speed is disappointing." 

"He probably thought he was sparing you, and himself, from further tainting by the incident." 

"Yes, but if my body had responded in my heat to him enough to mate, I would have gone with him, despite today's speech, and it's social ramifications. That he did not even talk to me in person over it I suppose shows that to be his error, not the misjudgement today." 

Beverly made a non-committal sound as she ate, considering him, before eventually responding as she disposed of a couple of crumbs. 

"I think you have stronger contenders this season. You responded very favourably towards Lieutenant Anderson, and Dr Lecter is no slouch either. I have hope that you will win me a great deal of money this year." 

"You placed a bet on me getting mated?!" 

"My dear Will, the bookmakers have odds on you every year, didn't you know?" 

Will shook his head, shocked and vaguely mortified at this new information. It was bad enough that year on year that he never found a mate, but to then find that people were betting on such a thing was disconcerting to say the least. He should have guessed that somewhere people would do such a thing, but he hadn't expected for it to be so close to home. 

Beverly, likely seeing his unease, tempered her words and tone, knowing her news today had likely not at all the sort he would have wanted to hear after all. She sometimes forgot that not everyone shared her amusements with as much enthusiasm as she did. 

"Don't worry, it wasn't just you. Lots of the most eligible singletons have bets placed upon their mating potential. There's quite a large interest in Mr Hodges as well." 

Fiddling with pouring himself some tea, Will was eager to be done with the topic. 

"So what did you make of Dr Lecter today?" 

She was thoughtful as she watched him, considering her words and what she knew. 

"He is a clever man that is used to getting his own way, but is charming with it, when he wants to be. I wouldn't mistake him for being harmless though, no matter that his aura does not press on the air. I am far more inclined to believe he controls that. I'll know more when I speak to someone he works with, or perhaps a couple of former patients." 

"Do you think he would be a good match for me?" 

"Too soon to say, but he has some compatible traits with you that are not normally seen much in alphas, so that could be promising. I like him though. His cutting humour amuses me." 

"So you have made a new friend at least." 

"Ha! Perhaps. Come now, tell me of your plans for the coming week. With courting season heavy upon us, you must be amply busy." 

"Actually this coming week, not so much. I was to go to dinner with a Mr Till, but he has since withdrawn due to ill-health." 

He gestured to the other letter, which she lost no time in scanning. 

"I can't ask the other suitors to change their days, due to the amount of preparation involved. Nor can I visit again with Lieutenant Anderson until I have had my first visit with the rest of them. Mr Benjamin Layton, I let go from my choices. I visited on Thursday, but we just weren't compatible. So overall it leaves my days and evenings pleasingly empty of obligations. I do have work to do for the newspaper, of course, as well as responding to those from my lecture, but thankfully no visits until the community event on Samhuinn I agreed to go with Alana to." 

"Oh I love those celebrations! Did you know that Samhuinn originally meant 'Sun's end'? It's fascinating how language changes over the centuries. Speaking of the celebrations in fact, I must remember before I leave to ask Mrs Platts if she could give me the recipe for the bonfire treacle pudding she made last year. I just have to get our lovely cook, Mr Parker, to make them." 

\-- 

As Beverly stepped up into her carriage and started to make her way home, she considered again the conundrum of Dr Lecter. 

That the man was clever and manipulative, there was no doubt, but she had cause to re-assess his actions, knowing now as she did about this second suitor having conveniently fallen ill. 

That wasn't to say that the rivalry for omegas during courtship was not to be expected, because it was, far more than was ever discussed, and kept out-of-sight from the attention of omegas especially. Territorial challenges did tend to be the norm, even if it was the more common meetings related to coming to an accord with suitors of the same omega. But this was different. It showed another level of challenge, entirely, or almost entirely unseen. 

It had, after all, been Dr Lecter's invitation to meet at the Wildflower tea room that day, and he who had booked that particular table with such a good view. Coincidence, some might say, that they were both there to witness the very public downfall of a lesser rival, but she wasn't convinced. How someone could have managed such a manipulation though, she wasn't sure. 

Yet Dr Lecter had been just a touch too at ease, too quietly satisfied for her to entirely dismiss such a thing. 

And now there was this other alpha. Mr Till, whose suit for Will had also been cut short, this time by illness, something more potentially in Dr Lecter's field of knowledge. She would have to look into it of course, but if it seemed likely that he had indeed manufactured this outcome, what did that say about the man? Potentially dangerous, of course, but then all of them were. Perhaps it was the less blatant way it was done that unsettled her, though again was that merely engineered to stop Will from finding out? She didn't know. 

Either way, she had her work cut out for her in the coming weeks. She just hoped the rest of Will's suitors wouldn't prove entirely too dull to make the task a chore. 

For now, she set it from her mind, and focused instead on how to willingly get Annabelle's second, Peter Radley, into the very nice pair of leather trousers she had had made for him. If they were designed to be a touch too tight around his delectable buttocks, well, he would just have do endure for both of their pleasures. 

A smile touching her lips, she considered that perhaps a touch more brandy after dinner might do the trick. 

* * *

**_London, Tuesday 27th October, afternoon_**

As this afternoon had been the one in which Will had been due to visit Mr Till, before the man had withdrawn from the courtship, Will had thought to spend it at home. However, seeing as how it had already been organized for the carriage to be available for him to use, he let Humphrey encourage him instead to use the time to do some shopping. 

Although it certainly wasn't his way to find such a thing generally pleasurable, he couldn't deny that once he was there, he had missed the compact and interesting interior of the small clock repair shop. Mr Brightly, the owner, was still bustling in the back to find the small package of cogs that Will had ordered some time ago, but had not had the chance to pick up until now. 

He wondered if it was still the same in the back where the tiny workshop was. 

He had only been twelve the first time he had seen the place, brought by the family to learn from a professional when he had shown an interest in the workings of the grandfather clock. Enough to have sat for hours watching it, until one sleepless night, watching had turned into the study floor being spread with the cogs and gears, and Will crying because he couldn't put it back together again. 

Mr Brightly had never treated him with the diffidence of most of society, his gruff manner betraying how little time he had for any airs and graces when his work was around. What at first had been mistaken for dislike, had soon been recognised for the singular passion it was, and Will soaked up the information, while Mr Brightly softened a little with time at finding someone who could share his passion for all things clock, with a focus that most adults, never mind a child of twelve, would never possess. 

Sitting back there had been like sitting in another world, the cramped back room filled with shelves and boxes of cogs and gears and things he had had no names for back then. It had smelled of metal and oil, wood-shavings, tea and Mr Brightly. It had felt safe back there, even when customers came and Mr Brightly became a disgruntled dragon, smiling with teeth at those who disturbed him from working with his hoard. Will had suspected, even back then that he only put up with it because inevitably they brought him more. It made Will feel privileged, always, when the man would return back through the door, interlopers chased away with a frown and polite sounding words, and his eyes would light at their latest project. Will had felt, in his youth, that he could be a little dragonling too, and he rarely begrudged the man his frowns and his lack of care for anything not related to his obsession. 

"Here they are, Mr Graham, the replacement cylinder escapement and cogs you asked for. Will you be staying? I just started taking apart a German Bracket clock in the back room. It got brought in yesterday with some winding issues." 

He knew he could could stay. He could go back behind the counter and clear a big enough space to sit and lose himself in the delicate task of logic and precision until those very same clocks chimed the need to close the shop and return home. It was easy to forget that longing for an escape to simpler times when he hadn't been around. 

"I'd like to, but I still have a couple of errands to do this afternoon." 

He could feel Humphrey's gaze and attention focusing on him more at this, having probably assumed that Will would indeed end up staying for a time in the workshop, but he said nothing. 

"No matter. You know when I'm open anyhow, Mr Graham." 

Will could see the disappointment hidden behind those gruff, dismissive words. The old beta had little enough chance to share his craft passion with any more, what with his wife gone over a decade past, and few people other than customers to fill his time. Not that the man was particularly sociable by nature, if anything it was the opposite, but in his craft he had boundless focus and enthusiasm and only customers who largely didn't appreciate his work enough, to share it with. 

"I'll try and find time to come by in the next couple of weeks." 

Will didn't try to offer up any excuses for his tardy ability to visit, knowing the man would not be interested in hearing them. Actions, rather than words, drove the man, and Will was aware that his own actions had not exactly been all that thoughtful to his mentor lately. 

It was easy to become caught up with the very many social obligations, his work, the courting necessities, the visits and the recovery from them, but Mr Brightly had never cared much to hear of such things. Will had been scared, at first, when he had presented, that the man would change, that he would start treating him as differently as everyone else did when he had shown to be an omega, but after a gruff 'huh... figures', he had merely focused on the new project that had been brought in, and the anxiety that had filled Will had seeped away in the face of the nonchalance. 

Mr Brightly had never cared about all the society balls, or the lists of suitors that Will had, except when the clocks sometimes were not enough to settle Will. He would listen then, if Will felt the want for talking, his own brand of gruff advice settled him in a way that Alana's sweet platitudes rarely were as he grew older. He cared enough for Will that he would listen to things he had no interest in, and offer his opinion, and Will knew from the years together just how much the man cared for his well-being to do so. 

Which only made the guilt so much more, seeing how the older man allowed his denial, and didn't question it, too accustomed to people moving on to hold it against Will, hiding the pain of that abandonment deep. 

Will berated himself deeply for that hurt, for letting time, the thing they had always shared and worked with, slip away between them. He would do better. He would. 

"Aye, well, be on your way then. I won't keep you. Hand in the mantle clock when you get it done. I got another couple on the shelf for you." 

"I will, Mr Brightly. Thank you." 

\-- 

Moving out of the small shop, they made their way back to the carriage where Jacob was waiting with Peter. The pair had an easy friendship, both being of a similar age and easy temperament. The sound of Peter's amiable laughter eased some of the weight from his shoulders, seeing members of his family happy. 

"Where do you wish to go now?" 

The question from Humphrey beside him, as they paused at the carriage door. 

"We should go to the confectioners." 

"Was there something in particular you wished to get?" 

"No. But you were wanting to buy Alana some sugar flowers, weren't you?" 

Humphrey looked momentarily surprised, but was more used to Will's observations than the other alpha. 

"Ah, well, yes, indeed. Let us go there first then." 

Will offered a brief smile to Peter at the driver's seat, who had already donned the heavier coat and hat to ward off the light drizzle in the air, before stepping up into the carriage himself. 

They journey wasn't a long one, but it was enough to take them to the busier streets of the town, and no matter the work of the street sweepers, the lingering scent of horse manure was pervasive, ground into the very cobbles of the street and settling like a thick haze that most people didn't smell any more, or got used to. It always smelled different to him here, cloying and bordering on overwhelming to his more acute omegan senses, mixing, as it did, with the smell of humanity. 

"Can I get you anything, Will?" 

Will blinked back his thoughts, realizing that they had indeed stopped. Humphrey waited for his answer patiently. In truth, even the thought of any sort of food right now was turning his stomach, but he knew that if he declined, that Humphrey would only worry about finding something else to give him instead, not wishing for Will to feel left out, the thoughtfulness of the gesture at odds with Will's current needs, for if they ended up stopping elsewhere for such a task, he wasn't sure he would have the energy or will to see through his own. The journey was already wearing on him. 

"A bar of the sweet marzipan if they have any would be nice." 

With that, Humphrey stepped out, and Will tried to calm himself, block out some of the anxiety that was already creeping in, his tensing muscles dance with the slight nausea from the street. 

"How did you know what he was wanting to buy?" 

Will looked across to Jacob. The man was still young, indeed, younger than Will at only twenty-five, and there was an almost childlike wonder and anticipation there. It still seemed to dazzle the man, like a magician's trick, to hear of such things. It was as good a distraction as any, he supposed. 

"It has been a week since Humphrey bought anything for Alana, and Mrs Platts was making sherry raisin bread this morning. The smell remind him of when he first got together with Alana, and how they would sit in grounds and he would feed her small pieces of sugar dipped in sherry. She always had flowers in her hair during the summer, and his gaze lingered on the bouquet in the hallway when we left." 

No matter that Jacob had gotten the answer, he still had that slight awe about him that Will found a smile tugging his lips slightly upwards. Jacob reminded him of Nathan when he was younger, full of playfulness and eager to experience the joys of the world. It was nice, he reminisced, that his observation could be used for such small, light-hearted things, not merely to settle the mantle of killers into his own mind. 

It wasn't long after that until Humphrey was stepping back into the carriage with a couple of boxes from the store, their delicate fragrance of worked sugar, light floral scents and the underlying hint of those who had made them lingered in the air. Will didn't bother to remind Humphrey to brush his scent onto the stems and petals before giving them over, for he could already see the man's fingers moving ever so slightly back and forth on the corner of the box, mostly unaware of doing so, but certainly aware of the scents that he didn't wish to be there. 

"Where is it you wish to go now?" 

The question was mildly asked of him, but they knew each other well enough to catch the understanding unstated. Humphrey was not going to have Will's own task sidelined a second time, for it must be clear enough that Will was approaching the limit for this outing, no matter that it had been a short one. 

"I was wondering if we could pay a call to the Hargreaves household?" 

"If I had known you had wanted to go there, I would have brought another of the family with us." 

"I know, but I didn't know if I was going to be able to make the trip. It's just that I have heard nothing more of them, about the pup. It's been twice now that they have not been in when I have sent a notice." 

Humphrey frowned a little, though not at the request, more at the utter rudeness of not returning a call in such a time. It was this, in addition to Will's worries, that made him incline his head. 

"Very well. Let us drop by and see what they have to say." 

\-- 

When the knock came to the door, George Hargreaves felt a certain amount of trepidation. It was now about a week and a half since his brother had returned home after the gambling disaster that had lost them everything. Despite Richard's assertions that he could regain most of what they had lost, so far very little had been forthcoming. Which was why, when that knock came, that it was not heard with much hopefulness of a pleasant interaction. 

Thankfully most that came to the door were not those looking to collect on a debt, there had only been the tailors' boy last week, whom he had been able to delay due to the fact that his brother was not at home, but most of those that did turn up, all in fact, did have to be turned away politely and in such a way as to avoid suspicion as to their actual circumstances. The fact that over the course of the week less people were coming to call, was both a boon (for he would not have to think up more excuses) as well as a dire portend to their rapidly declining social standing. 

However, no matter how passively concerned over the doorstep greeting he was, it could not have prepared him for the sight of Mr Graham and Mr Humphrey Layton of Bloom, standing on the threshold. Later, much later, he would think about how their fine clothing was impeccable, and how they held themselves with the grace of the upper classes. Of the delicate scent of aftershave and clean skin, of how their hair was cut so neatly. All of these things he would think of later, but in that moment, all he could see was that they were 'more'. 

"Good afternoon, Mr Hargreaves. I came to see my pup." 

For all that Mr Graham's words seemed mild and pleasant enough, there was a tone of demand there, rather than request, a fact only reinforced by the steely gaze of the alpha beside him. Someone like Mr Layton was treading far beneath his standing in society by calling on them here, and by his look, was not willing to be given any vague placations, having made the journey. 

"I... that is, please come in." 

He hated how he had fumbled his words, and that he was alone in the house right now. His brother would have known what to say to the gentlemen in these circumstances, he was sure, but Richard was not here, having been travelling further afield of late on the back of poor winnings, to seek fresher ground. 

Alone here, it was up to him to deal with this, and seeing them both here, in their effortlessly exquisite tailoring and polite demeanour, only made the disparity between them all the more glaring. 

"It is only myself in at the moment," he said, walking them through from the hallway, where much of the landlady's best furnishings had been moved to give the impression of a well-maintained household, to the front sitting room where the light from the window was best. "I must apologize for the lack of ability to offer you refreshments, but as you can no-doubt see, we are somewhat lacking at the moment. My brother always tended to try to reach too far." 

He had thought the shame had been bad, when the lawyer and debt collectors had come, but as as they both stood there in a room now so utterly lacking in any manner of comfort or furnishing, this was perhaps just as bad. 

Damn Richard and his bloody gambling. 

Damn him for leaving him here to explain and clean up his messes without help. 

He couldn't lie to these people. He had known that, not when he was so ashamed over the entire situation. Not when they had been nothing but polite to him so far, though the silence from the pair told it's own story. 

"All the dogs are with another owner now. I told the lawyer present that one was yours, but I suppose they have not contacted you, since you are here to visit to see them." 

"No, they have not contacted me." 

George sighed, and it came out shaking, as if the tumult of his thoughts had somehow taken over his chest and racked it with spikes as he exhaled. 

"I can write the lawyers name and address for you. It was on the documents we were given." 

He wasn't looking at them. Couldn't. The silence lingered for long moments, unanswered. 

"That would be most useful. Thank you." 

George flinched at the lower timbre of the alpha's voice when it came, and not Mr Graham's. He couldn't smell any anger off the man, but he had never been good at placing scents, and he seemed too well-mannered to fill the room with his aura. That didn't mean it wasn't there though. It should be there, it likely was, and was clearly justified. That Mr Graham didn't answer himself said clearly enough that he was struggling to find polite words for him. 

His hands were shaking as he got the folder out from the drawer of Mrs Wicket's table, as well as the pen and ink that he had forced Richard to get him, so they could at least respond to calling cards. He had to sit on the window seat to get enough light to write legibly. 

"He assured me, the lawyer, that the new owner would take care of them well, and at least they are with their mother. I wouldn't have wanted them to leave so soon without her. They were still so young. I gave them their blankets and toys, and the kibble I had made up for them, before they left. And their brush." 

He realized that he had been holding onto the address, rambling, and held it out to them. 

"I am sure they will be fine, Mr Hargreaves." 

The tone from the alpha was not what he was expecting, for it was soothing, rather than angry, and made him look up to check he wasn't imagining it. But no, Mr Layton stood there, every inch the gentleman, not seeming to hold the current circumstances against him as many would. 

"I'm so terribly sorry." 

He didn't know what exactly he was apologizing for; the dogs not being here, the barren state of the house, the disappointment, or himself being in such poor form. 

"Do not trouble yourself. I will speak to the lawyers and things will be settled over the pup." 

The calm voice of the alpha was what alerted him to the fact that the man was in fact using his aura, just not in anger. It lingered there in the room, a calm certainty of action that loosened his shoulders and made some of the sick anxiety and grief loosen from his chest. 

"Thank you, Mr Layton. You have offered me ease I thought not to find." 

"What will you do now?" 

The voice of Mr Graham had him turning with a slight flush at having temporarily forgotten about the omega in the room. Was he really so addled? It would seem so. 

"I, eh, will have to seek employment elsewhere." 

He didn't think he needed to elaborate, not with the shell of a house around them, not even a fire or a few tea leaves in water to share. Mr Graham nodded, his eyes lingering on the folder left on the desk while he answered. 

"I have heard good things about the Market End Recruitment Hall, located just off Grassmarket. A friend of mine hired his servants there and had been impressed. I believe they work with skill, not employer references." 

It went without saying that he would have none. Not that his brother would not try to give one, but because soon, or even now, his brother's word would be seen as more than suspect. 

"Thank you, Mr Graham. You have both been more than kind." 

He barely remembered seeing them back to the door, but soon they were gone and the door closed again, darkening the hallway, the house once again silent. 

\-- 

Back in the carriage on the way home, Humphrey remained silent until Will finally looked up and over to him. He took this as a willingness to speak, knowing all too well that such times had to be taken lest Will lapse into a deeper state where it became far more difficult to re-engage with such things. 

"I will write a letter to their lawyer when we get home. Being able to send the gifting letter along with it will lend it more weight in our favour." 

Jacob, who had not been witness to it all, having stayed with the carriage to ensure it remained untroubled in this part of town, and was glancing back and forth between them, but neither one deemed to answer his unspoken query. 

"So you think he will be okay?" Will asked, his gaze clearly concerned, and despite the scent blockers that he had put on before leaving the house earlier, some of his worry was starting to seep through. "I saw the date on that folder he had. Almost three weeks ago now. He looked like he'd had few meals since then. He was so thin." 

"Will," Humphrey's voice cut through the mounting anxiety. "It is not our place to save him. He must do that for himself. It is reprehensible, the state that he has clearly endured under his brother's care, but until he decides to stop it or reach out for help to do so, there is little anyone can do for him while he is willingly under the thumb of his brother. However so long as he does take your advice and seek employment elsewhere soon, I see no reason why he would not find a way to flourish once more." 

Will caught the undertone of Humphrey's words well enough, but they were both concerned for the beta, understanding all too well how close family can bind you to do things you would rather not, no matter how much good sense it made. 

Jacob, unable to restrain himself any longer, at least in part because of the level of discomfort in the carriage, finally spoke. 

"So what happened?" 

A slight downturn touched his lips, the thinning of them in minor annoyance and mild discontent, and it was enough to make the younger alpha dip his head and move back slightly in deference, though his gaze remained steadfast enough, wanting to know the answer. He wouldn't begrudge the man this, as much because the younger alpha was bound to make the carriage journey a mess of his youthful impatience otherwise. 

"The alpha, Mr Hargreaves, appears to have lost everything to a legal dispute or debt. His beta brother was left to tell us of it." 

"Including the puppy? That's horrible!" 

"Not nearly so horrible as the fact he has left nothing for his brother to live on." 

He made sure his voice was firm in stopping any further conversation on the topic. Indulging in it more would only ignite Will's need to do something about it, and truly, to step in now would be a mistake. If Mr George Hargreaves was to find freedom from such hardship, it had to be by his own actions, otherwise whomever he ended up with would only be tainted by the same murmurings, no matter the intent beforehand. That wasn't to say that he felt nothing over the man's plight. He did. But there were carefully constructed methods for dealing with them in a beneficial way to all, ones that didn't include Will wanting to randomly hire someone that he knew near nothing about. 

He wouldn't put it to the alpha of the Hargreaves family to end up orchestrating something in his desperation to attempt one last ditch to survive. Unless the brothers were separated by their own choice, the inclination to help the other would be far greater than it might otherwise have been, and whatever income might be made by the beta might merely be handed over under misguided benevolence or pressure, and then lost on more gambling or debts. He had heard of such things before, and he had not come into his own wealth and security by being impulsively inclined. 

Jacob settled down, though there was little hope for him to keep his gossiping from the rest of the household once they got home. It was to be expected, of course, not only for him to tell them, but also of society at large to know. That was something that Humphrey would see to. Mr Richard Hargreaves would soon be finding that the majority of the wealthy classes would have little or nothing to do with him after this. He knew just the people to mention it to in order to get that particular ball rolling. 

"I think I will take the matter to the lawyers myself and see what they have to say. It is a well-reputed company, so I cannot see there being any problem." 

Will nodded, his thoughts still fixed on the visit, no doubt. The sooner Humphrey could get word about the pup and put the matter behind them the better. It might be advisable to stop in at the club on the way back and find a responsive ear or two as well. Mr Easton should be there this evening, and possibly Ms. Kearns as well, who was always eager for such snippets of gossip, but with enough morals and standards to thoroughly condemn the man for it. Yes, that is what he would do. But first, to home, where he could pick up the gifting letter to take with him. If luck and serendipity were with him, he would be back in time for dinner. 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Thursday 29th October, afternoon._**

It had been two days since Humphrey had gone to visit the lawyers to speak with them over the matter of the pup, but other than a note letting him know that the owner would contact the Blooms about the matter in person, no such contact had yet been felt. 

Looking over today's correspondence, Will flicked through the different ones that had come in today, sorting them into piles. Thankfully it wasn't Monday when the bundles of mail from the Agony Uncle column came through from the newspaper's office, but there were still quite a number relating to his lecture that would need to be replied to before being passed to his colleagues to organize and deal with further, not to mention others from the courting season. 

For all that he preferred writing to conversation in person, the letters for courting were a trial. Much like the gifts he had received at the ball, there was a way about them that was expected, full of flowery language and overt displays of ardour that were about as genuine as any lie. While it was true that, of all the methods of communication over courting season, it was this one that tended to give the most amusement, it was the most tedious to pick apart what the people were actually saying. 

He picked one up at random out of the pile and opened it, glancing through the somewhat familiar handwriting. 

\-- 

_29 Pickering Lane, London, 26th October_

_My Darling William,_

_When I was out walking today, I had thought I had seen you in the soft waves of dark hair, but upon closer acquaintance, the man held nothing of your delicate elegance, his eyes stared at me boldly and his manner was most offensive in the very fact that he was not you._

_Every day the world seems bent upon depriving me of your glorious presence while taunting me with hints of what we will one day attain. I watched a young couple out walking yesterday, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to groan in dismay that you were likewise not at my side. It tore at my heart to have you so far from me, that I could not lay your head upon my chest so you might hear that my heart only beats for you and every moment apart is a pain upon my soul._

_I was reminded of your fair skin in the lingering snow upon weather worn roofs, of your soft murmur in the wind that chills me as it did at the ball when you were so dreadfully ill, and although I have not heard it, I sometimes think to hear your carefree laughter amongst the elites as they wander the streets._

_I can barely think even of eating for the wish that I could share it, that I might offer your soft lips a delicate curl of pastry, or some other sweetmeat that might take your fancy. ..._

\-- 

He stopped reading with a grimace, and set it aside without reading any further. Just his luck to have picked one that had been written by Franklyn, of all people. The man never seemed to give up, having taken the alpha trait of dogged determination to its limits and beyond, as he noted that at least one other of the letters waiting bore the same handwriting as this one. 

Determined to stave off a headache, he turned away from them and instead looked at some of the others that lay waiting, ones that looked far less inclined to have anything to do with the courting at all. One in particular drew his eye, having a stamped address upon the back, rather than a handwritten one. He couldn't remember writing to a publishers, and so he opened it, interest peaking, and determined to forget, for the moment, the less welcome correspondences. 

\-- 

_3 Papermakers Row, York, 26th October_

_Mr William Graham of Bloom,_

_Sir:- Your letter of the 14th of October, forwarded to us on your behalf by the Hartley, Wheeler and Sons of Pembridge Street, London, that questioned the origins and other publications of the author Mr C. Eden, was received this afternoon, and I will attempt to furnish you with the answers you seek, few as those may be._

_Enclosed is a list of the various published editions of 'The Marvels of European Travel' by Mr Eden, numbers published, and their current market value based on condition. I would caution that this is a general guide only, for the true value of a book may be increased or decreased significantly by small differences not immediately seen, and you would be best served by getting it valued by ourselves or another specialist for a more correct accounting._

_That being said, the book described in your letter does sound very much like one of the first editions listed, of which there were only twenty made, due, of course, to the fact that the illustrations were done by hand, and not a block reproduction as seen in later volumes. This alone makes the book automatically one of the most valuable of those published, even were it in poor condition, which seems, from your description, not to be the case._

_As for your request about other publications by the author, I can tell you that, as far as we are aware, there are none. Despite the publishing house having made the query several times to the author, he is showed in our records to have no interest currently in writing a follow-up book._

_I can likewise give you little information as to the author himself, for it would break the rules of confidentiality inherent to our business, except to tell you that Mr Claud Eden is certainly a pen-name, as many authors use, and not the one he would regularly be known as._

_I regret that my letter will offer no further satisfaction in these answers._

_Perhaps, if it is not too inconvenient to you, you might bring the edition in question to our office to be evaluated some day. Such a rare copy would be a delight to our curator to peruse, and may give you more answers as to it's value at least._

_Yours respectfully_

_Mr John Walters_

_Chief Publisher of Whitegate Publishing House_

\-- 

He had forgotten all about the letter he had sent to the local bookshop in enquiry, and was pleased that they in turn had tracked down the publishers that the book that Dr Lecter had gifted him had been made by. 

Disappointing as it was that so little information could be gleaned, at least now he knew that whatever puzzle lay in the book, it was in this one alone. He had only managed to progress through its pages in the few short times when his attendance was not taken up by other matters, but still, it held his attention. 

It was tempting to write to Dr Lecter about it, but he suspected that whatever insight he might glean from the man were far more likely to show in person, so he dismissed the idea, setting aside the letter and picking up another one at random. 

\-- 

_29 Pickering Lane, London, 27th October_

_My dearest love,_

_I have enclosed my invitation to dine with this letter rather than waiting for your courtship acceptance, for I know must be so dreadfully busy with all the balls and business of the season. I have made it for Friday the 6th of November in the hope that you have not been forced to make other plans by your family. I hold strong in the memory of your soft yielding glances to me, knowing my love is returned with just as much fervour. I will make everything perfect for you, worry not. I yearn and dream of the time when we can be together again, my love._

_Your adoring mate-to-be,_

_Franklyn_

\-- 

Will was sure that he was going to need far more alcohol in order to stave off the angry headache building. To have the audacity to ignore societal protocols and send such an invite when he had not received confirmation of the bid to court was bad enough, but to make such utterly wrong assumptions about Will's own feelings was just terrible on so many levels. 

The man had set himself up for a dramatic fall, and there was only so much Will could do to soften it without things being left with any lingering hope of reciprocation. Will had tried before, but the man seemed to be so utterly determined that he held little hope that scandal for the man could be avoided. 

It was terrible, and in all honesty it made him feel sick, for he didn't believe that Mr Froideveaux was purposefully doing it, he just didn't grasp enough of society past his own instincts and wishes to see the truth of the matter. With a sigh, he set the letter and invitation card aside with the other letter, and rubbed his brow to try and ease the tense muscles there. He would deal with it later. It would have to be done today for certain, to stem the tide of further misunderstanding, and there was little hope that the man was not going to end up heartbroken over it. 

It was not a promising start to an afternoon dedicated to dealing with his mail, to be sure. 

Shaking his head, he tried to dismiss it from his mind and focus on other things, flipping through some of the remaining letters until one caught his eye. His fingers paused on it, for the letter had no postmark, so it had to have been delivered by hand, and the seal on the back was not one he immediately recognise. 

It was difficult not to get his hopes up, that it might be about the puppy, for there were many well-off families who he was not that familiar with, that would send someone to deliver important mail by hand. 

Carefully opening it, a quick scan to the end of the letter told well enough that it wasn't about the pup, but that didn't stop the soft smile from touching his lips as he sat down to read it properly. 

\-- 

_8 Atholl Crescent, London, 29th October_

_Dear Mr Graham_

_I am under the duress of a slight panic, as Mrs Becket asked me yestereve when I had written to you, and appeared rather distraught that I had not yet done so. I had thought you likely to be so busy with the season, and your work, that you might feel better not being pressured as much by the need to respond to more things to do with courtship. Yet in my hope to not add to it, I find myself now vastly uneasy with the thought that you might not think me interested._

_I can assure you, with as much ardency as can be set upon paper, that my thoughts of you do not stray long, and it has been with keen distraction that I have gone about my daily life for want of your returned presence._

_I know that it is impossible, due to etiquette, to see you once more until you have visited with the others vying for your good regard, but that does not make the time any easier. Hints of your scent still linger in my sitting room where you once sat, and I am loathe to use the room too much in case it fades before I see you once more. I find myself often wishing, of an evening, for the growing ease of conversation that we had there._

_I wish, also, that I had the gift for less formal letters, as I cannot tell how much of a mess I am making of my attempt to gain your good regard, or at least your tolerance, until I may see you again._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Lieutenant John Anderson_

\-- 

Will smiled at the letter as he looked over the neat handwriting. He could imagine well enough the numerous drafts of words placed and then discarded, for it showed a certain amount of anxiety over it's reception, with some words being more precise and strictly set down, while others, wistful hopes, slid from that. 

Raising the letter from the desk, he drew in a soft breath, catching the whiff of fading streets, Mr Fall who had brought up the mail earlier, and beneath it, on the right hand side, Lieutenant Anderson's scent, where his wrist had lain upon the paper while writing, warm and welcoming. 

It was difficult to tell how much the statement of poor letter-writing were in earnest, and how much was attempting to excuse the somewhat more risqué topic of Will's scent in his home. Frankly it was bordering on slightly scandalous if it had been anything other than a private courting letter, and even then, such comments generally were left until much further along. Still, Will found that he didn't mind too much. That the letter was signed with both names was a clear enough indication that the Lieutenant hoped for a less formal relationship by giving his forename in the hope it might be used. 

He found his fingers absently moving over those four letters, remembering the time sitting together, with a fondness that company rarely brought him. 

Taking a clean leaf of paper, and dipping his pen, Will started to make his reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter this time, and on time! huzzah!  
> A huge thank you to my beta-reader Anthony, specifically, because he went above and beyond with his help this month.
> 
> I am also looking for some more questions for the agony uncle section, so if any of you have any questions about the worldbuilding, or want to offer up a letter for Uncle William to answer, please post them on the agony uncle page, or message me on facebook with it.  
> https://www.facebook.com/AO3thequietscribe  
> I am hoping to get enough questions together to do another post there before the next chapter is released in a month's time.


	10. Hospitals and Turnips

**_Fletcher Residence, Cart Wynd, London - Wednesday 28th October, afternoon_**

Mrs Tilly Fletcher sat in her small sitting room and stared down at the elegantly written calling card. It was of thick card stock with embossing on it, as well as some delicately printed decoration around the edges. The handwriting was neat but forceful, but otherwise gave little away as to the nature of the owner. 

**_Ms. B. Katz of Bloom requests_ **

**_to call upon Mrs. T. Fletcher_ **

**_in matters relating to Sentinel duties._ **

An alpha, it would be, and a wealthy one. Even she had heard of the Blooms, although their stations in life were considerably different to her own. She had no idea why someone from that house would wish to speak to her, as she knew no one of their station that she might be able to give words about. 

She looked back up from the card to her husband, Rupert, who echoed her own baffled look, and shrugged a little, not about to turn down such a visitor, even if it was an error on their part. He gave her a lopsided smile that warmed her, one that lit her own in response. It had nothing to do with the visitor and everything to do with the fact that they were only married 5 months past and both still took great delight in finding themselves so. 

A few moments later she could hear Rupert in the hallway letting Ms. Katz in. She set aside the calling card, and carefully eased herself to the edge of the chair before cautiously getting to her feet, just in time to greet the woman who strode in. 

"Welcome, Ms. Katz. Can I take your cloak? Mr Fletcher will be bringing through some tea shortly. Please, take a seat." 

"Thank you, yes. I shall not take up too much of your time. There is always so much to do at this time of year." 

As Ms. Katz removed the plain black woollen cloak, one that, despite its lack of ornamentation, was far nicer than any she had ever owned, it became so much clearer the distinct difference in their lives. Like magic, the cloak revealed the most glorious day dress, with a trimmed waist and full skirt, dark purple in colour, but with a richness to it that made her fingers ache to touch. 

Her own linen shirt and dress, although clean and tended to, seemed all the more drab and poor when sitting across from the other woman. She took the cloak and held it as Rupert came in with the tea, thanking him and passing the cloak over for him to hang so it wouldn't get creased. Usually she would have had no trouble doing so herself, but she was still feeling sufficiently tender enough to feel no guilt at getting her affable husband to deal with it. 

"We have not met before, Mrs Fletcher," the woman said as she sat like a queen in the modest surroundings as Tilly eased herself back down, seeing to pouring the tea, "I believe you may have met someone with whom I have an interest in knowing more about, being that he is set to courting someone of my family." 

A pause then, as Rupert came back in with a plate of sweet biscuits that he had made only that morning. Even though they were an indulgence for them, for sugar and honey were expensive, and the tea was likewise not exactly common in their house, poured in their best crockery, she was more than aware that this was nothing compared to what Ms. Katz was likely used to. 

She poured for them both, as Rupert stepped back towards the door, lingering for a long moment, his reassuring gaze there before he went back to the kitchen. 

"Of course I will help you if I can, but I have no contact with high society, so I cannot think whom you might mean." 

Were those real diamond earrings? She had never seen any up close before, and even in the somewhat sparse daylight, they glittered, drawing the eye. They had to be real diamonds, surely, for someone of the upper classes would likely die before wearing cut glass or crystal substitutes that were more common. She couldn't wait to tell her friend Mags about it. 

"It came to me that you had been the unfortunate recipient of an attack," Ms. Katz supplied, bringing her attention back to the moment. "Are you quite recovered now?" 

She startled slightly at the abrupt change of topic, for while asking after someone's health was good manners, she hadn't known that her situation was general knowledge really past those that read the local tabloids. It certainly wouldn't have made it to the better newspapers, that was for certain. Surely Ms. Katz did not read the likes of Tattlecrime. 

"Alas no. It will be some time until I am able to return to work I am told. I am still mostly on bed rest, but the pain wasn't so bad today." 

"Ah, I am sorry to hear that. You were seen at the Founders Hospital, under the care of the chief surgeon, Dr Lecter, is that correct?" 

Oh! Yes, that made perfect sense now. Someone like Ms. Katz would of course be interested in an alpha like that. She nodded her head, though the news that it was he who she was looking for information on dampened her enthusiasm for the visit somewhat, though she tried to hide it. Suppositions, she told herself, meant little, and his direct actions were what mattered. 

"That is correct, though I saw little of him. He came around the wards once in a while of course, to check on his patients and to see everything was in order, but most of the time he was elsewhere, doing surgery I presume." 

"Understandable, of course. Will you tell me of your interactions with him, and your impressions of how he behaved while working? As sentinel for my family, I would like to know what he is like outside of the ballroom and dining room." 

It was barely a question or request, though phrased that way. Although the woman was appearing friendly, she was still an alpha, and one that was currently exuding not only her wealth and success, but also her drive to get answers by being here, right now, and seeming uncaring to move until she was furnished with them. 

Tilly took a sip of her tea, reassuring herself that this was her own home, with her grandmother's crockery, and that Rupert was within hearing distance. 

"I will tell you what I know, little as it may be." 

The woman in question looked pleased as she sat back in the chair, but it was the pleasure of a lioness with a full stomach watching a lame deer. 

"I don't remember much when I first got to the hospital. That's when I first saw him. I was in so great a pain I could barely see. There was a nurse there, she told me who he was." 

She had never been in so much pain before, not even when that crate had fallen on her leg when she was eleven, breaking it. That had been bad, so bad that she had wailed in agony for hours, but as long as she hadn't moved, the pain had become bearable. This wasn't like that. This pain breathed with her, like the claws of a monster flexing every time she tried to take a breath, to live. She had to try and stop her own sobbing for, like a cycle of destruction, it made the pain so bad she feared not being able to breathe at all. Blood in her mouth after passing out from agony from her body trying to expel the taste, the pain, maybe even her own life. It certainly felt like even a moment without feeling like this would be a blessing of untold worth. Anything. Anything to make it stop. 

The next time she regained some consciousness, the pain was a little less, but her head felt dizzy and uncertain. 

"Please be polite. You must be polite." 

She didn't understand. It felt like this intolerable agony had been the entirety of her life so far, such was its extent, that anything else outside of that was difficult to comprehend. She tried though, because the person smelled like nervousness and a little fear, and that at least was important, if there was a further threat. 

"This is Dr Lecter, the surgeon who will be seeing to you today," the voice said. Surgeon? Was she in hospital then? She might live beyond this? She hadn't thought it possible, but then she had not had space to think much at all since the attack. But she remembered the worry in that person's scent. Polite? She tried, her mind was slipping towards the relief of unconsciousness again, but she tried. 

"Thank you for seeing to me, Dr Lecter," or as much as her pain-slurred words could emit. She wasn't sure how much she actually got out, but was that a hint of relief in the person's scent? The nurse's scent? Maybe. Darkness slipped into her vision and pain eased away into unconsciousness. 

"I think I thanked him for seeing me, but I didn't know much after that, passed out from the pain I did," she said, then wished she hadn’t. It sounded so common in the face of the elegant woman in front of her, that she could have cringed. "I was in and out of sleep for a couple of days before waking properly after surgery. The nurses told me that Dr Lecter had saved my life. That another surgeon might not have been able to." 

_Although there were brief forays to wakefulness, she didn't rouse more fully until three days had passed._

_The pain was still there, especially if she moved, but less. Manageable so long as she kept taking the powders with water that dimmed it back. She was going to live, the nurse at her bedside told her proudly. She listened as they carefully changed the dressing of the wound and the nurse preened at how there was no infection. Surely though that was just chance? Luck?_

_"Oh, no," the nurse had told her, something like awe, even worship in her voice. "It's his skill and how he runs things here. You would likely have died with a lesser surgeon, but not Dr Lecter. He does things his own way. New staff, they complain sometimes about the extra work, the cleaning and how demanding he is, but I've been a nurse here for over twenty years now, his wards have the lowest rate of infections I have ever seen. It works, it does. I don't mind the extra labour so long as less people die. Hadn't though it would make such a difference, but it does."_

"Was Dr Lecter brought over specifically, do you know, or was he in charge of the ward you were in?" 

"Oh, I think technically the nurses were in charge, but it was clear he looked on the wards as his domain, and the nurses respected that. Respected him." 

"How did that show?" 

She paused for a moment, considering her words. Sometimes a situation seemed so obvious that it took a while to figure out why that was, with all the little details coming together to give the overall impression. 

"Well, the way they acted around him mostly. They would always defer to him. None of them wanted to be seen as incompetent or lazy. He never threatened them, as far as I could tell, but his disapproval was felt if something wasn't done right. He had this way of looking irritated and disappointed at them that the younger nurses especially were desperate to avoid." 

Ms. Katz made a thoughtful noise, her gaze holding a sheathed sort of sharpness in that contemplation. 

"Did he scare them?" she asked with a sort of mild interest in her tone that did little to hide the focus that the question truly held. 

"Oh, no,” Mrs Fletcher said quickly, “not in that way, I think. Most were just scared of disappointing him, of being seen as not doing their job right. Many of the staff looked up to him greatly. One of the older nurses told me that for all the extra work that was being given to them, she was glad that Dr Lecter was in charge. Said that the ward ran so much smoother and calmer with him there." 

"Did you find it so?" 

"I mean, I guess so? I had never been in a hospital before. But it was very clean, and everything was punctual, like the tasks of the nurses, the cleaning, the meals. It seemed organized well, I think. He would come around the wards at least twice a day to ensure everything was running how he wanted it, and I know he was keeping a tally on the supplies so nothing ran out. He spoke with the chief nurses about it a couple of times." 

"How was he like with the patients on the ward?” 

_He wandered along the ward, checking on patients as he passed, or merely nodding to what the nurse told him about their recovery. When he got to her bed, he came alongside it to talk to her, his bearing that of a confident and in-control alpha, something that was reassuring in its competence._

_"How is the wound today, Mrs Fletcher?"_

_"It is much improved, thank you, Dr Lecter. Nurse Pavel was able to help me to the privy today."_

_Such a normal thing, unless your body is rebelling against you. A mere walk, as short as that was, became a vast achievement under the circumstances._

_"That is excellent news," he said, "I will just check over the stitching and for any inflammation. Please lay back."_

_She had shifted down the bed to lie there once more, aided by the nurse, while Dr Lecter washed his hands in a basin that had been brought. It was a bit painful, but nothing like it might have been, and she wasn't about to complain. His hands were careful and deft, and offered nothing but the clinical examination that was expected. A couple of times the pressing of his fingers caused a small whimper of pain to escape her, but he apologized, letting her know he had to check for any internal swelling._

_When it was done, he washed his hands in fresh water once more, and reassured her that everything seemed to be healing well, and that she would likely make a full recovery in time._

_It had been a tremendous relief to hear that, and she had thanked him with an easy gratitude that he took without smugness as others might have done. He was too much of a gentleman to let such a thing show, if it existed._

_That was what it was like for each of the patients he visited on his rounds. Clinical professionalism and confidence._

"He was always very polite when he came to the ward. He never raised his voice or flashed his aura or scent. I wouldn't say he was friendly, so much as it was his job and he was performing it efficiently and with the manners of a gentleman. He didn't have time to sit with us or see to other things, that was what the nurses were there for. But everyone in the ward respected him. He had little tolerance for ill-manners." 

"Is there anything else you can think of that might be of use to define his character?" 

"Oh, well, there was that time when another Doctor came into the ward. The one from the asylum. Dr Chitton, or something? I don't remember his name well. But he came in one day. I remember it because the man made me uneasy. Perhaps because of his job." 

"Dr Frederick Chilton. I share your sentiment. The man is a cockroach." 

"Well, he came around the wards, just... looking. Dr Lecter was there, having come to get the nurses to bring one of the patients for surgery. Dr Chilton made out that the patient, who had become panicked at the thought of surgery, might be better in his care, but Dr Lecter set him right. There was some animosity between them, but Dr Lecter didn't rise to fight as many alphas would, he just exchanged words until Dr Chilton got bored, or lost the verbal exchange and walked off. It seemed like Dr Lecter considered those in the wards, nurses and patients, as under his protection." 

"Did you feel protected?" 

_She had first seen the man, whom she now knew was Dr Chilton, from a distance. All alphas were predators, but seeing the way the man moved in the corridors, fleeting glimpses as he wandered around, she was less reminded of the lions at the zoo, and more of a scavenger pretending to be something that he was not. Eyes always sharp for easy meat, and not much care into how he got it._

_His presence there made her uneasy. She asked one of the nurses who he was, since it was not visiting hours, and the nurse’s brief assessment of the figure had, both quickly and clearly, turned to focus, dislike, and irritation._

_"He shouldn't be here. Dr Lecter won't like it. As if my day ain't busy enough."_

_The nurse had finished folding the extra blanket, and made off down the ward to challenge the interloper. The voice of her neighbour, Miss White, brought her thoughts around._

_"That's the shrink from the asylum. Dr Chilton. Harvey said he's been coming around more often since the incident last week on the other side of the hospital. Some guy went on a rampage against other patients and ended up getting sent there, and now he keeps snooping around looking for more. Best keep your head down around him. I know I wouldn't want to be someone he sets his beady gaze on."_

_She couldn't help but think that she agreed, and nodded a little to show she was listening. A lot of people were watching as the nurse seemed to be adamant at making him go away. Surprisingly he did, though it was only a few hours later that he was back again._

_This time it was Dr Lecter that was out dealing with the man in the hallway, his voice clipped with retrained dislike and intolerance for the intrusion into his domain._

“Mrs Fletcher?” 

Tilly practically had to shake the memories from her head, aware that she had perhaps drifted further than intended in the haze brought on by the pain medication. 

"I’m sorry. I think so? It's hard to tell when a threat isn't physical, but I felt glad that Dr Lecter didn't let Dr Chilton into the wards properly. He kept him out in the corridors, positioned himself in front of the doorway in fact. Dr Chilton didn't return after that. I think we were all grateful." 

"I don't doubt it. I only had the displeasure of meeting him once, and that was one time too many in my opinion. It is a strange assortment of people we meet in our lives, isn't it?" 

Ms. Katz smiled, finishing off the last of her tea and setting it down carefully on the table. 

"Well, I won't keep you any longer, Mrs Fletcher. Although your company has been a pleasure, I have to be at my tailors in half a candlemark, and it's half way across the city." 

\-- 

Mrs Tilly Fletcher watched from the window as Ms. Katz's carriage drove away down the street, and wondered about the omega that had caught the attention of the surgeon. She felt a touch of worry and guilt for not telling more, but she remembered all too well how things had been that day when Dr Chilton had visited. 

_She had been awake and healing for a few days now, the routines of the ward now familiar. The morning had been filled with the usual things, of the bed bath, the bed linens changed and breakfast. Every day it happened like that, without fail._

_She was sitting back in bed now, luxuriating in the clean sheets and, having been given her pain medication with breakfast, almost blissfully free of pain so long as she kept still. In many ways, the most she was suffering from once she was medicated was the boredom. Rupert had brought her knitting bag to help keep her occupied when he wasn't there during the visiting hours, but it still left her with little to do other than to think, and the ward was run with such regularity that it didn't give much to ruminate on._

_The morning had gone much as it ever did, but by the afternoon she had noticed some of the nurses seemed a little more tense than usual. It might have bypassed her notice entirely at first if not for her boredom with knitting at the time. It wasn't just one nurse either, for she soon noticed another hurrying through, seeming on trying to get tasks done quickly._

_"What's the matter?" she had asked when the nurse, Agatha, had come to give her more water. "Has something happened?" She was mindful to keep her voice down, not wanting to put additional strain on the staff by way of spreading gossip so more people inquired._

_"A doctor from the asylum is poking around. Once Dr Lecter gets out of surgery, he will come around."_

_She hadn't thought much about it other than the fact that the nurses were having to hurry with tasks they would usually have more time to complete before he got there._

_She didn't think too much of it until a gradual hush started to spread from the other wards to their own._

_Usually the wards, so filled with people likely as bored as she was, were quite loud with the various chatter, but that only highlighted how that noise faded when Dr Lecter came around. There tended towards a more respectful level of noise when he was making checks in the area, but nothing before now had brought the utter silence that that day had had. The change from the boisterous noise to nothing except the sound of precise, clipped footsteps on the tiled corridor floor making itself known. Even the nurses had fallen silent, though their actions became more hurried, while the patients all stilled. They were like prey here, huddling down in their burrows, hoping that the predator that those steps heralded would pass them by._

_They all felt it, or at least the ones that didn't took note of those around them and followed their lead. They were all wounded here, wounded severely to have ended up in the hospital in these wards, and none were in any state to defend themselves. That was what their instincts told them._

_The footsteps stopped at the entrance to their ward and there he stood, all poise and deadly efficiency, cold eyes sweeping across the room. She wasn't the only one to hastily turn her eyes away. Not even the nurses seemed to dare look at him directly._

_Many times he had come to the ward to make checks, or order a patient in for surgery, but there had never been this level of foreboding before. The thing was that he looked just the same now as he ever did, and in usual circumstances she doubted that any of them would have noticed the difference, but with all of them wounded, closer to their instincts brought on by their situations and pain, they all felt that clawing grip of terror._

_"I have a free slot for Mr Tanner. Bring him now."_

_His voice to was much as it ever was, business-like, efficient, but with the feel of the area now, it was too much for Mr Tanner, who started to scream in terror, overcome by the fear, the pain of his wounds, and the delirium of the strong pain medication he was on. The nurses had to pin him down to give him the sedative._

_Sitting in her own bed, she was shaking, the voiced terror and struggle only upsetting her more, tears burning her eyes, and she wasn't ashamed to hide her face a bit behind her knees. She knew it wouldn't save her, nothing would,if he commanded it. That was how it felt._

_"One for me?"_

_The smug, all-too-pleased voice of Dr Chilton from the corridor brought her eyes up and saw the man that had been loitering earlier. So unexpected it was, that a tiny whimper escaped her, though thankfully unheeded as the danger turned his head towards the interloper. Usually they would not have been able to hear voices out there with the general hubbub of the wards, but the place was so silent but for the fading struggles of the other patient, that they could hear everything._

_"Wounded animals will often struggle against inevitability. There is nothing for you here."_

_"He certainly looks deranged to me."_

_"With such a wealth of free time that you can bother others during their highly demanding schedule, I am surprised you don't put it to better use and return to your studies so you might be able to adequately tell the difference."_

_"The best study comes from observation. A pretty drawing within a textbook may reveal all that is needed to operate on flesh, but the mind is infinitely more complex than the body. To solve man's wounded psyche requires talent, not mere rote learning."_

_"Then may I suggest you return to it. You have no call to be here when you have the Institute's patients as a captive audience for your brand of intellect."_

_"On the contrary. It's my place to seek out any poor souls who have lost their wits, no matter where they are."_

_"Alas, the hospital is not in agreement. Unless to collect a particular patient at the request of myself, or a senior member of staff if I am not present, you have no authority to visit this domain. The vote was held on Monday evening by the board. I believe you had been unable to attend due to a prior engagement, but such things happen. Now if you will excuse me, I have a patient to tend to. I believe you can see yourself out."_

_It was without any attempt at a clever-witted reply that Dr Chilton turned and left the area, his back stiff with irritation and offence at finding himself outmanoeuvred. Turning away from the retreating figure, Dr Lecter turned his attention back towards the tasks at hand._

_With the presence of Dr Chilton gone, and the nurses and unconscious patient in the corridor, the foreboding that had previously suffused the area had lifted enough that it seemed little more than general irritation in the chief surgeon. Nothing could be seen that was different about Dr Lecter now, but then nothing had before either. It was easy to start to dismiss the fear as over-reacting and vivid imagination._

_"Nurse Pavel"_

_The voice of the chief surgeon, sharp and commanding. A question in that demand for attention, one that the nurse had clearly been hoping to avoid. She looked up and over to him, and it was easy to see, even at this distance, the bruise now blooming on the side of her face where the flailing arm of the distressed patient had hit._

_"He didn't mean it!" the nurse said, her voice holding both pleading and an edge of panic. "It was an accident. He didn't mean it!"_

_Dr Lecter's gaze is steady on her, dispassionate at her begging._

_"I believe you still have to collect the laundered bedding from the washhouse, and tend to the wound dressings in ward B this shift. See to getting those done after you have put a cold compress on that."_

_She had feared, and likely so did others in the room, that perhaps the patient would not survive the surgery with how the nurse had been acting. Several hours later though, the patient was wheeled back in, and once more the nurses were gushing over how talented the surgeon was._

\-- 

She looked out at the street, at the carts and horses, as well as the people walking by. She hadn't understood much back then, especially when the patient was told he would make an almost full recovery. Strangely though, one of his arms seemed to have had some damage, even a couple of weeks after surgery the man had barely the strength to lift it. 

It was then that she had understood what the nurses feared, for it could not be chance that had rendered the very arm that had struck the nurse, unusable in the aftermath. 

Dr Lecter was both protective and vengeful over what he considered under his sway, and she didn't think that any patients that had watched that dead arm in those days following, made the mistake of thinking it an accident. 

What sort of alpha would he make to that omega, she didn't know, but she valued her own life too highly to call foul and risk his courtship chances. Both fear as well as gratitude for her life had kept her thoughts to herself. She just hoped that such vengeance never turned towards the family he sought. 

Turning back from the window, she smiled at Rupert, and let him help her back up to bed for a rest. It was quite enough excitement for one day. 

* * *

**_Samhuinn Festival gathering, Weavers Square Community Hall, London - Saturday 31st October, evening_**

The carriage drew up to the community hall, and Dr Lecter stepped down out of it, pausing to pick up the large hamper from within before closing door and walking with it to the community hall beyond. 

The night was chill, the street lights doing relatively little to remove the hostility of the night beyond. His breath misted in the air, and he paused at the entranceway, glancing out around the street with an air of a man who was unconcerned, though perhaps curious as to what might move around on a night like tonight. 

Soon enough though, the impeccably tailored gentleman that he was opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him once more, though it did little to let people forget the chill beyond, for despite the large hearth, the place was cold no matter how many bodies were pressed into this place of commune. 

He was not here to see most of them, or indeed many of them at all, but there was one that he was specifically coming to see. 

"Dr Lecter, I didn't expect to see you here!" 

Alana Bloom was there with two of her alphas, though thankfully not Jack Crawford. However it was the blue eyes of her son that his own gaze flickered to before graciously focusing on her as she came close. 

"My dear friend, I would not miss this opportunity. These festivals are core to the turning of the seasons. It is good to do my part to remind people of them, and what better way than to start the memory young?" 

He smiled politely, a hint of a genuine smile there beneath the veneer as he let his gaze travel around the room to the many children that this community hall was hosting tonight. Most were from the local orphanages, and all of them poor. The smell of bodies and clothing scrubbed in cheap soap mingling with the tallow candles and mildew from the building was not a bouquet that was particularly pleasant, but something to be endured, much like the poverty these children came from. 

Mr Graham had risen from where he had been aiding in setting up and organising some different games to keep the children occupied, to come and greet him. The man, he noted, was as uncomfortable around children as he was with adults, perhaps more so as they tended not to adhere to the societal norms that might otherwise have limited contact. 

Mr Graham was wearing a modest sort of attire tonight, more form-fitting than the suit he had worn at the Lecture Hall, but far less flashy than those at the ball. He doubted that it was the sort of thing he wore at rest when at home, and so perhaps this was, in a way, a sort of armour against too much familiarity with the children, whose enthusiasm for an evening spent playing games while staying up late was considerable. At least two of them, he could scent, were Alana’s, likely having been brought to help integrate different classes. If that had been the intention, it seemed largely to be failing due to the spoiled behaviour he was witness to, out of the corner of his eye. 

"I didn't know you celebrated Samhuinn. Was it very different in your family home?" 

A curiosity from Mr Graham in the question, but also perhaps a tell of just how much of a reprieve he viewed Hannibal as compared to the curious questions and touches from the varied youngsters all around. Even children knew mostly to leave adults alone when they were conversing. Still, he would take such contact like the pleasure it was. 

"Somewhat different. The family estate is far from the nearest town, but amongst those nearby we gathered together for feasting and festivities, as well as putting in place things to ease the passing of those spirits caught at such a time." 

"I wouldn't have taken you for a superstitious man, Dr Lecter." 

"Where I come from it isn't considered superstitious, merely a way of life like the turning of the seasons. We would always take care to honour such liminal times." 

Alana looked over as he opened one side of the large basket he had brought, turning their attention with the action. It was proven fruitful for her charmed laughter filled the air. 

"And you do so by the use of sweet confections? Those look amazing!" 

Hannibal smiled and started to lift out the candied apples on sticks for the children who were now eagerly gathering around at the first hint of treats. 

"Thank you," he said with a small amount of pride, "We were given these sometimes when I was younger, and it has always been a favourite of my sister, Mischa, so I thought to make them for those here tonight, to offer such small delights to others." 

He was careful to have made more than enough to go around, despite the veritable sea of children at a place like this. It was an unusual treat, and especially with sugar being vastly expensive, so it was doubtful that the children here would ever have seen its like before, especially because it was quite difficult to make correctly. 

"Winter can be harsh," he said as he turned to the children, handing them out, one for each, "At the time when mild weather and plenty is waning, a small joy for each of you to share and remember with those who might do without." 

He could see in the eyes of some of the children that they were no stranger to harsh winters and the loss of friends to it. Children like these were far closer, far more aware, of the passing seasons than those from the elite were. He didn't doubt that at least some of these sweet apples would be kept hidden away to be shared with those who were not here tonight. Coming from the poorest sections of society, some of these children, or those they knew, would likely not make it through the winter, but that was the way of things. In a reminder of the ability to share, it might make them more likely to recall this and do something about it in the months to come. 

Sometimes even the smallest of actions could change the length of a life, after all. 

"I have some extra waxed paper here, if any of you wish to keep them for later." 

Setting the squares of paper down to be taken or not, he would turn back to William and Alana, retrieving out a smaller box of sweets to share around the adults here this evening, each one carefully wrapped so they might be easily carried home in small bundles. 

"For the adults here tonight, something a little more delicate, but hopefully no less pleasantly received." 

Alana laughed, taking the box to hand them out. "You know very well everyone will be delighted. You spoil us, truly." 

"Then I will make no pretence to do otherwise," he said, his eyes glittering with amusement, turning to lift the other side of the basket lid, bringing out a large carved turnip. 

He had, of course, carved it himself and was gratified by the delight that Alana offered at the item. Turnip wasn't particularly easy to carve, being a harsh vegetable to cut, but the time spent doing so would only heighten it's effectiveness, or that was the theory. Alana was not the only one to delight in it. 

"Is that to scare away the ghosts, Mr?" 

Although it was rude of the youngster to interrupt, and without his title, which had already been given, he allowed it, having banked on such interruptions to relay things he wished. 

"Indeed no. Although many believe this to be the case," he said, his tone obviously one that was to start a story, letting the youngsters gather around, many already having a sticky face from the toffee apples. 

He put the lantern down on the table and carefully lit the candle, setting it inside before closing the lid, his attentive audience around him with their sugar sweet apples. "All through the year, during the planting and growing, of the warm summer and the plenty of the harvest, the winter court has lain dormant, waiting. It is on this night that they rise up from their slumber, their power strong, to battle the summer court for supremacy. It is during this battle that it is said that their power draws with it the spirits from their land, and those who had died during these chill times long past." 

He turned the turnip around, and the full glory of his creation came to life, with the face carved not only all the way through to the light, as was more common, but also carved to glow more softly in other places as well in a way that gave the image depth. Overall it created a variety of gasps and squeals from scared and delighted youngsters. 

"They follow the winter court, whose chill grasp drew them like a cloak in their travel, but the hunt is fast, and some spirits can become confused and get lost. Have you ever become lost and confused? It is easy to become scared or angry, and it is the same for the spirits. But if the lanterns are there, carved with the faces of light, scary as the hunt can be, they know that they can rest there, in the light and warmth until the night passes into day, and they will be drawn back to where they need to be once more. Spirits, you see, they like candles and scents, it is why so many altars for the dead hold candles, scented oils or incense. Now, which one of you would like to carefully put this at one of the windows, so that any lost spirits can find it, and be happy for the rest of the evening?" 

He let one of the children pick it up carefully, so carefully. He liked that they were careful, even reverent over it. As they should be, in his opinion. 

Pleased by this, he turned back to his companions, only to find that Alana had slipped off, though she gave him an almost indulgent look from where she stood, helping to give out the confections to some of the others in the place, and it was Mr Graham alone that stayed to answer his gaze. 

"It seems a shame that it will only last a day or two," William said, "The amount of effort you clearly put into it is considerable." 

"Ah, but that is the point, is it not? Winter is not a time where bounty can be sustained. Nights like this are a reminder that the time of plenty is at an end, and what pleasures we have are self-made and fleeting. More effort and less reward, in some ways. Yet for all that, or perhaps because of it, it is the winter months, rather than summer, that sing to me." 

"You like the challenge of it." 

"Just so. Though for all winter's nature, I don't believe you will find it harsh upon you this year." 

Dr Lecter's smile was but a hint on his lips, a knowing and perhaps a slightly indulgent sign, for who, after all but himself would be looking after the man during those times. 

Reaching into the hamper one last time, he brought out a bundle tied in kitchen cloth, and offered it to the omega. 

“Something for your own windowsill, so your evening will remain peaceful and undisturbed. From the spirits at least." 

He knew his eyes sparkled at least, remembering very well just how bothered Will had been of Jack's interference in the past. He didn't doubt that such a conversation as they were having now would have been greatly shortened should he have turned up at the house, while here, in a public setting and with family alphas that were more tolerant, nothing was impeding his wish. It was gratifying as well that none of the other suitors had thought to take advantage of the event as he had, though the fact that Mr Graham was here was not at all widely known. 

“Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you. It isn't a tradition I had ever done before, even as a child. I remember some of the games, and the festival foods the most, but it was usually just like a family party than anything like this.” 

“I suspect that the years of our youth were quite different, but there is always time for starting new traditions between us.” 

He doubted that it was lost on Mr Graham the fact that he hoped, and indeed intended, on spending the winter solstice celebrations with him, and more besides. The slight flush of colour on his cheeks in response was really quite becoming. 

It was interesting that this, rather than previous charm and compliments he had made, had such an effect. He doubted that it was merely the location, for he had now met with the man in several, nor that it was perhaps particular to himself. As Ms. Katz had pointed out, Mr Graham had indeed been alone a long time, and was unlikely to be so quickly turned by easy charm. So perhaps it was the implication of something longer lasting, than merely the present time, that offered such a delightful response. 

A slightly flustered Mr Graham was also, he noted, unused to taking such hopeful statements with ease, for it was a small silence before a change of topic that he answered with. 

"It was clever of you to find us here tonight," William said, and Hannibal allowed the diversion of topic, aware of his omega's gaze watching as he collected the unused wrappings from the children's apples and put them back into the basket before closing it. 

"Not unwelcome I trust?" 

Will shook his head, and whether it was from his company alone, or as part of the temporary respite from having to deal with his current surroundings, the answer was still the same. Although Mr Graham was once more not looking at him directly, some of the same focused interest still lingered between them. 

“Then I shall remain closed lipped, so as to retain at least a little mystery, that you may be able to indulge my company in future.” 

He smiled then, overall pleased with the meeting, and of Mr Graham. Still, there was one more aspect of his visit that he needed to accomplish before he allowed himself exit. For all that he was covetous of the omega's presence, he had other things to do tonight, and had no wish to be roped into whatever children's entertainment was in the offing. 

"In truth,” he said, “there was more that brought me here tonight," he said, deciding upon a more frank honesty than he might usually have considered. "I lately came to own some dogs from a man indebted to me, and was informed that one of them was said to have been owed to you by the previous owner. I wished to reassure you that once the pup is of age, I will of course give you it. Although you would see them on Monday when you come to dinner, I did not wish to leave you worrying over the pup any longer." 

The news, such as it was, came as something of a shock, he noted, though he had made no effort to hide his skill in cards, quite the opposite. That it was him who had dealt with the rather presumptuous and rude Mr Hargreaves should not perhaps have been such a surprise, especially considering the man was attempting to court Mr Graham, but perhaps that sort of thing, despite the many years of courtship, was a facet of alpha behaviour that he was largely insulated from by his family. 

He could see Mr Graham struggling to realign the information in his mind. Such a task was likely being hindered a bit by the overall stress of being out in public, and so Hannibal merely waited, curious to see what might be made of the information now. 

"I am very grateful, Dr Lecter, but you didn't need to go to all this trouble just to bring me the news. You could have come to the house if you wanted to speak to me of it." 

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of your company on Samhuinn night, nor have had such a good opportunity to give you something to mark the season." 

He offered this distraction and reminder, drawing the other man's thoughts away from gambling debts and more towards the benefits of his company. Picking up the basket, Hannibal would smile a little, having to be slightly more careful with such an expression, for the satisfaction of a foe defeated was more clearly satisfying when it could be gifted in some way to his omega, and the night already calling for his special brand of viciousness. 

"I will wish you the blessings of the season, Mr Graham, and not outstay my welcome.” 

This seemed to bring the man back to the present more acutely. 

"You will not stay longer? You would be most welcome I am sure.” 

It was a surprise, and vastly pleasing to have his presence be craved in such a way, but this was not a night to be foolhardy. He had not intended to linger, but perhaps, when his company was requested, he should. 

"Are you in need of a valorous companion tonight then? I could stay a little longer to fend off the hoards for you, if you should wish,” 

He let his voice be warm and softly teasing, setting the basket back down once more as a sign of his acquiesce. 

In truth he had as little liking for spending the evening in such a place, surrounded by children and those that liked them, but for the comfort and affection of Mr Graham he would endure. It would not do to be seen abandoning him to such a fate alone. 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Saturday 31st October, evening_**

Back home in his room late that evening, Will sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the bundle on the table beside him. He hadn't opened it while at the community hall, as much because he had not wanted to make a mess of retying it as it had wanted to do so here at home, not be rushed or watched as he took it in for the first time. 

There were always so many expectations around gifts, and especially when pressurised by being out in society, he could never be sure whether he expressed himself in a way that was acceptable enough when viewing things for the first time. Those moments when you first look at something, and the person watches you, eagerly awaiting your response to the gift they have taken time over to get for you. Too long a pause and it could look like you are unhappy, and any future expression of pleasure then taken as a placation. Or give a smile too fast or too large or small might be seen as fake or lacking. All of which was likely merely because it took him longer to process, longer to decide and feel what it was he actually thought about it, and then react. 

So he had held onto it, unopened, which in itself could be seen as a flux pas, because people liked being able to have that feedback. He hoped, at least, that in spending more time with the alpha, rather more than was strictly allowed by society's standards during this stage of courtship since he hadn't yet visited with all of his suitors, that Dr Lecter wouldn't be too disappointed or put out over it. 

With careful fingers, he untied the ribbon and drew it away, letting the folds of cloth fall around it, revealing the large turnip inside. It was delicately carved with just as much care as the one for the orphanage had been. A small candle sitting inside it waiting to be lit now that Will got home. 

When he turned it around, the face that was carved into it was a bit difficult to make out, for the fact that parts of it were not carved all the way through gave it a strange and disturbing look, though he could make out a general face as well as hints of what could be antlers. He understood now why Dr Lecter had kept the lantern turned away from the children until it was lit, for it almost seemed like glimpsing behind the stage at the opera, the beautiful palaces and walkways showing to just be painted wooden boards and pulleys. The children might have lost a little of the initial awe that they had so clearly shown, at peeking behind the curtains as it were. That Will got to see it now, unlit and be able to appreciate more than just the magic of the glow, it seemed special. 

Perhaps Dr Lecter might not have expected him to open his gift before now after all. 

Taking a taper, he lit it from the candles beside the bed, and carefully pressed the flame to the small one in the turnip, watching the wick sizzle a moment before it took properly before replacing the lid and extinguishing the taper. 

He didn't look at it yet, not until he had blown out the candles that were still lit beside the bed, all but one on the far side. Only then did he turn it around to see the magic of the reveal, and it made his breath catch for a moment at the glowing image. 

In that initial moment it was as if the face had come alive, the candle's flickering almost making it seem like tiny movement in its face rather than the intricately carved piece it was. It's face was long and gaunt, with antlers stretching around the sides, curving with deadly points. It almost seemed more bestial and skeletal than anything more humanoid, but there was certainly a smile there, sinister with its sharp teeth. 

Yet for all that such an image should be terrifying, he didn't find it so, perhaps because he remembered from earlier how Dr Lecter hadn't intended the faces to be about scaring away the spirits, but by giving them somewhere familiar to rest. Such creatures of the fabled dark court might well be terrifying, and were often told to be so, but would such faces be scary to those who knew them? A face such as this, at rest, it posed no particular threat despite its visage. If anything, the more he looked at it, the more he got the feeling that such a creature as was carved here was offering protection rather than threat. 

Was that what his suitor wished to convey with the gift? An alpha could be a protection or a threat depending on the circumstances. Why he had chosen this method of gift, and this image, to convey his thoughts would need to be thought of when he wasn't so exhausted. 

On a whim, he took out some paper and a stick of charcoal from the desk and sketched out the shape of the face, then adding a couple of notes in pen at the side so he wouldn't forget. He would think more on it later. 

For now, he wiped off his hands and set the lantern in a safe position at the window. His father had died in the summertime, so it was doubtful he would ever be lost here, but it was nice to think, even if it was fantasy, that other spirits might find comfort and rest because of it. 

Laying down in bed and pulling up the covers after extinguishing the candle beside the bed, the warm glow of the lantern reflected a little off the glass of the window, the sharp, curving antlers bright in the otherwise dark room. 

It would have taken Lecter hours to carve it. He could imagine him sitting with such serene patience, dedicating time and effort into making not only this, but all the other treats he had brought to the hall today. 

When he fell asleep that night, it was thoughts of the slender gentleman, the protective gaze of an otherworldly horror, and the memory of sweet delicacies made for enjoyment that filled his thoughts. 

Will Graham slept soundly that night, and no nightmares trouble him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks go to my beta-reader Anthony who was awesome for getting this done on such horrifically short notice, and to James for helping me with a piece of Chilton's dialogue.
> 
> I would also like to post a thank you to @planetstarclaw on tumblr, who recommended this fiction for 'Fresh Meat Friday' with some very kind words.   
> http://freshmeatfriday.tumblr.com/post/173499658549/fresh-meat-friday-round-up
> 
> Just a heads-up for readers that next chapter may end up running slightly over the deadline, as I am running around 2 weeks behind schedule. I will do my utmost to get the next chapter up on the 18th June, but there may be a slight delay because of this, but also because it is a key scene that I really want to get right. After all, we don't want to mess up Hannibal's dinner, do we?
> 
> As always, kudos are greatly appreciated, and comments are at least part of the soul of my motivation, as are your queries. Much love to all my readers.


	11. Fish and Lures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than usual for posting this chapter (more on that in the notes at the end), but it's ended up being about double in length! (15k omg). Enjoy!

**_Bloom Residence, London - Monday 2nd November, evening_ **

Will lay out on his bed, his gaze fixed upon the rich canopy above without really seeing it. The bed here was a familiar thing, the deep blue of the fabric had been a favourite in his younger years, a claim of stubborn difference to the pastelle shades his mother favoured, bold in a way he had once wanted to be. 

The fabric was a bit faded now, almost two decades later, though certainly not as much as his desire to be bold. He barely remembered his father now, the instigator of his previous confidence, vague faceless snippets of memory, the feel of his arms lifting Will up. Sometimes he even recalled hints of his scent, but only in the drifting wisp-like hints, barely caught before the memory was gone again, a little vaguer than before. 

None of Alana's alphas were much like his father had been. He still recalled the bark of his laughter, easily drawn, the warm chuckles and the lines beside his eyes from a history of them. Nathan perhaps came the closest, but he didn't have the strength and aplomb that Will's memories reminded him of. He was glad, in many ways for the difference, especially in Humphrey, who had taken care of them through the subsequent years. 

The sheer difference was, perhaps, one of the main reasons Will had managed to adapt to a life without his father. While Alana had bonded with more alphas to fill the gaping wound of the man's absence, Will only had the bond with her, especially at first. He liked to think that he had managed to form family ties with them, but it had never been the same for him as the parental bond that had been lost. 

As it should be, of course. It made sense that a child would form bonds with their biological parents, there was plenty of evidence for it. There was less evidence for what to do if that bond was severed. 

He wondered what his father would have thought of him as he grew. What he would think of him now. It was odd to consider that Will himself was now older than his father had been when he was killed. 

Jack, who reminded him the least of his father, did echo his strength the most, he thought. That certain type of push that the aura had, but without the warmth of regard his father had held for him. Sometimes he wondered how much alike they really were, and if the biological bond might have, over time, ended up more like Jack was with him, detached and frustrated. 

He reached over beside him and picked up the newspaper laying there. No need to open it, as he held it up against the backdrop of the faded blue, to look again at the article on the front page. 

**Murder: Darling of society and stage, Gloria Summerville, murdered.**

He had read the article, such as it was, hoping to get something more from the story of her glowing life and career that his view of the murder had not. Looking at it now gave him just as much as it had the last time, which was to say, nothing. It was infuriating, because this murder had been different, not the least because this article was not just in Tattlecrime, but in all of the broadsheets. Gloria Summerville was one of the very prominent and publicly known of the upper classes. A public speaker, actress, well loved socialite, and, to add to the public's distress, an omega. 

Much was being made of it, and the public fear and outcry was considerable. It was not at all pleasant, especially considering the excessive pressure Jack and his team were now under to solve the case and bring the perpetrator to justice. Already two of Gloria's three alphas had killed themselves out of grief and the horrific amount of guilt of not having protected her. It had only muddied the waters of information further, for they could not be questioned again. Some even blamed them, not for failing to protect, but of the actual murder, no matter how vastly unlikely that was. 

It was all a bit of a chaotic mess, but one that had left his own time largely untroubled. Usually Jack would have been hounding him for more answers, to seek deeper, to view this or that for more, or any, insight. But the sheer fact that there was considerably more pressure, had had the opposite effect, for the public outcry meant more, or indeed all of the investigating police were on this case now, leaving little time or opportunity for Jack to get him to look at things. It was just too great a risk to bring him, with all the scrutiny, in case of a scandal if he was seen. Jack had managed to get him a very quick look at the victim in the early hours of yesterday morning, but nothing since then. 

There was a certain amount of guilt there, not for the lack of access, but at the sheer relief of not having that worry, that edge constantly digging in, like shards of glass rubbing whenever he saw or heard the man, waiting for the moment Jack's demands gripped him, driving the shards deeper. 

He took one last look at the newspaper before setting it aside once more. For all the public outcry and dismay, he was far less troubled by the death. He supposed that it said a great deal about himself that he was largely unmoved by it, but he had seen worse, so much worse, over the years. That was, in a way, what got to him. It wasn't that she was a public figure or an omega, people died all the time no matter their sub-gender or class, it was the fact that she had not suffered. 

Gloria Summerville's death, contrary to almost every other death by the Ripper Artist, had been swift, instantaneous even, her neck snapped. There had been no tell-tale scent of fear lingering on her skin, only the leftover scent of the party she had been attending, and the mead that had been over her lips. Usually the Ripper liked to draw out the victim's deaths, but all the presentation there had been done afterwards. Was it because she had been famous? Was the Ripper an admirer of her? There had been an omega as one of the victims last year, but nothing like this. That one had screamed for hours. 

In truth, it was only the presentation itself, along with the symbolism and meticulous planning that made it a Ripper murder at all. Jack hadn't been readily convinced when the a lack of torture had been known, but he couldn't deny the level of artistry that proved it. 

They had thought first that it had been a copycat killing, which was, perhaps, the only reason he had gained access to the body that first day. That and the fact that those that had found her hadn't known who she was. Jack hadn't twigged, but Zeller had recognised her, and from then it was a rush to get Will away from the scene before the rest of the police and public alike caught wind of it. 

It had been the Ripper though. He could still feel that residual calm detachment when he thought of the tableaux he had witnessed. 

She had been lain out on a patch of ground surrounded by trees, her limbs pinned down in the crook of branches driven into the earth. The dress over her stomach was torn and bloody, and it was clear from a glance that her torso had been stripped of its innards. 

This hadn't been about the horror though, nor fear and distress. She hadn't been alive when that had happened, and the blood on the dress, much like the tears in it, had been purposeful. It was made to look like wild animals had done it. It was about hunger. Considering that she had been killed on the turning between seasons, the night that folklore said the court of winter took power, it wasn't difficult to judge what that hunger was to satisfy. Lean months were ahead for many, animals included. Winter affected all walks of life. 

Perhaps that was all it was, the reasons he had been chosen, not just any person, but an omega of prominence, to show that the bitter seasons could affect anyone. 

Will didn't doubt though, that there was a large element of showing off here. Look, the choice said, none of you are safe, not even the most coveted jewels of society. 

They still didn’t know what it meant, or how it fitted into the narrative of the three kills. Zeller thought something about the forest theme seemed familiar from an old folktale he had heard growing up, but they had yet to find the source. There had been much made about her name as well, considering the lore of that particular evening, of Summer being defeated by Winter. Was she chosen specifically because of her name? It might have been a deciding factor, perhaps, though nothing about Ripper kills were simple. 

And yet, for all that, no matter the death and the blood, both things that he had become somewhat numbed to over the years, it had been beautiful. She had lain there like a fallen summer bloom, her large dress spread out around her, her long hair entwined with leaves and berries of the milder months. All around her lay scattered foliage, oranges, reds, and browns of autumn, as if her mere presence had kept winter at bay. 

It was always about winter, the kills from the Ripper on the 31st of October, but this year there was a sense of honouring the dead, the sacrifice of this woman, and that was new. The Ripped never honoured anything but their own desires and intent, and the change was tantalising in its ambiguity. 

What had changed? 

He lay there for a time, but without further evidence, he just didn't know. The police were looking into the possibility that it had been someone wishing to join her family, an alpha or beta, and had perhaps been rejected, but it seemed so out of character for the Ripper to make such an emotional mistake, that Will doubted they would have much success. 

With a sigh, he forced himself up and off the bed, a quick check ensuring himself that his trousers were not unduly creased, before he drew on the waistcoat that waited him, something to hide any on the back of his shirt. Fancy clothing did have some practical uses after all. 

Cufflinks were already in place, and he checked his hair, combing it to tease out any flatness at the back from his languishing on the bed. His suit jacket then, a light grey blue that was one of the more traditionally omegan in hue, being far brighter than he would have chosen himself. His mother had decided on his suit tonight, so the choice didn't really surprise him. 

With one last look in the mirror, he ignored his shaking hands, and turned away. He could hear her voice downstairs in the hall, so it was time to go. 

It would be fine, he reminded himself. It wasn't like Dr Lecter would be a poor host. He couldn't imagine a world where that would be the case, and he was curious. He was just aware, pointedly, of the lack of scent-blockers he now wore, much as he was any time he did these visits. He was sure the man would be fine around him, and well-mannered. There was nothing inherent to worry about. 

That didn't stop the prickling of sweat touching his spine though. Formal dinners with someone effortlessly accomplished in them wasn't his idea of a calm night in though. 

With a sigh, he walked across the room and headed downstairs. The sooner they got moving, the sooner he would have something other than murder to distract him. 

This was, it seemed, the rather strange way that his life had taken him. 

* * *

**_Lecter Residence, London - Monday 2nd November, evening_ **

As the carriage drew up to the house and Will stepped out, it was the first time he had seen the building, and although it was mostly dark now, the glow from the lanterns that were set out to light their way, gave enough hint of the exterior to show a large town-house with graceful stonework and well-tended windows. Although it wasn't nearly as large as their own residence, the fact that it sat in one of the city's more affluent areas, as well as had its own large garden and carriage turning circle, said clearly enough of it's owner's status. 

They were not left waiting in the cold either, as before they had even made it towards the door, it was opened, offering light and warmth as a welcome, along with their host who gladly ushered them inside. Even Jack could not bemoan the reception, despite having been in a particularly testy mood lately. He would much rather have spent the night going over the case for work, but clearly hadn't trusted that the combination of Alana's friendship and Dr Lecter's charm would not sway Will from Jack's own choice of Lieutenant Anderson, so had come along to run interference. It certainly wasn't helping Will's nerves, worrying about what he might say, but there was little he could do about things either way. 

As they entered, he offered Dr Lecter a brief smile then allowed the bustle of the four of them to distract their host after they were each welcomed, Alana's happy and enthusiastic greetings filtering to the back of his mind while he tried to calm his nerves some more. 

He let his eyes drop to the base of a side table as he undid the buttons on his outdoor coat, carefully drawing in the scents of the house to try and focus his mind and ground himself. Underneath that of his own family, with Price there beside him, there was the scent of the servant seeing to gathering their coats. Beeswax from polishing, not just the wooden table nearby, but the doors and wooden floor as well. It wasn't a particularly subtle scent, but it was pleasing. The mellow smell of the candles burning on the side tables, as well as from the light above. Hints of cooking deeper in the house, as well as tea closer by, and then the somewhat familiar scent of clean dogs. 

At this, his gaze rose as he drew off his coat, Price taking it in hand to give to the servant. Dr Lecter's gaze flickered to Will, and there was an appreciation there in the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he viewed what Will was wearing. Perhaps it was because the tie the alpha had chosen to wear himself was uncannily of the same hue as Will’s suit. 

Alana was oblivious to the look Will gave her in suspicion, since it had been her choice to wear this suit, for she was still chatting with their host as they all made their way through to the sitting room. Jack too, was making an effort to engage Dr Lecter, and he could see that not all of it was to do with keeping Will at a distance from his suitor, the more masculine hues and luxury in the building weaving its own spell on the alpha's good opinion. 

The room that they entered was much the same in feel, for although the majority of it was done in light dusty blues and greys, these were punctuated by flashes of navy blue and maroon that kept the room feeling not only masculine, but one owned by an alpha. No matter how comfortable the chairs, this was a room intricately designed to highlight the strength and power of the one who owned it, everything from the rich oriental rugs to the undoubtedly expensive paintings and ornaments. 

Yet for all that, it was clear to Will that the man had made an effort to soften the impact of it here tonight. The placement of the candlesticks was such that it added warmth and light to the seating areas, but not too many to highlight the dominant flashes of wealth around the rest of it. The rug that lay between the seating to, he didn't think typically lived there, for although it was clearly freshly beaten of household dust, he couldn't detect the subtle scents of the visitors from it as he moved over, something that the chairs still retained. It was a richer hue, still fitting with the decor, but adding a more relaxed feel than one of another colour might have given. 

What really showed the difference though was the large wolfhound lying stretched out in front of the fire. 

Will didn't doubt that most guests wouldn't be greeted, or wish to be greeted by the dog, vast in size as it was, but Dr Lecter knew better in his case. 

"Dinner will be served shortly," the cultured voice said, bringing him out of his thoughts briefly. "I need to tend to the last few things. Please allow Mr Hunt to serve you drinks in my absence. Mr Graham," a pause then, as their host ensured the subject of his attention was looking his way, "I believe you have already met Beatrice. There is a blanket beside your chair to save your suit from any stray dog hairs." 

The smile that was given to him by the Dr was a satisfied one as he excused himself to see to the dinner. It was unusual for a host to do so, but Will didn't mind, not when it offered him more time to gather himself as well as indulge in the company of the docile hound. 

It was Price that spoke with the servant to get a drink for him, being a far more friendly sort to betas than Will managed, or Jack, who was prowling the room looking at things, contrary to etiquette. 

Will set aside the glass of lemon water he was given, after a sip, and sought out the blanket. It was a thoughtful gesture, but then Dr Lecter did appear to be the sort to be effortlessly organized. It did not surprise him therefore that the blanket matched the decor of the room perfectly. 

Beatrice, who had been watching from her place at the fire, moved when the blanket was settled over his legs, seemingly having been waiting for it, pushing her face into his hand for petting. 

"She really is quite large, isn't she?" Alana's question, though he didn't look over, too busy trying to bury his troubles in wiry fur. "Very well trained and docile though. I can see why you were so enamoured of them." 

He was just about to answer when the snort came from across the room from Jack. 

"As big as a small horse. It'll hardly fit in the stables with the rest. You should just let him keep the pup and get one of a smaller breed if you want another dog so much." 

Will stiffened at the words, but kept his gaze on the grey fur and not the members of his family. It wasn't like Will was surprised that Jack would dislike yet another dog in the house, if for no other reason that it hadn't been a gift from Lieutenant Anderson. It was the fact that his words were thoughtlessly indicative of Will's continuing place at the family estate after his heat. For all that he knew such a thing was most likely, and he himself always made plans to take that into account, it was something else entirely to have the fact reminded to him, and for it to be done in the house of one of his suitors. 

Thankfully he was saved from having to make a reply by the fortuitous return of their host. 

"I apologize for having kept you waiting. Ah, Mr Crawford, I see you have noticed my statue of consul Marcus Claudius Marcellus. It used to sit in my uncle’s study when I was younger, then gifted to me when I came of age." 

"I’m not familiar with the name," Jack was forced to admit, though the point was not lingered upon, but remedied by the answer. 

"He was a five times elected consul of the Roman Republic," Dr Lecter said, "most noted for his military career including his defeat of the Gallic King Viridomarus in single combat, as well as his capture of the fortified city of Syracuse. More important though in this case is that he was the first person who had checked my namesake in battle, and continued to do so during his career." 

Jack frowned, looking over to the other alpha, not understanding. For all that he had made his career in the police, and specifically the finding the perpetrators of crimes, some subtleties bypassed him completely. 

"That seems a bit of an odd thing to have, or is it a cautionary tale?" 

Dr Lecter smiled, light and unassuming. He did not focus on, or belabour the point, making it seem more akin to a pleasure to explain more, than a hardship to be endured. 

"Not at all. Although he was killed in the end, I was always taught to respect worthy adversaries, much as my namesake did. After his death, he gave the man a proper funeral and returned the ashes of Marcellus to his son in a silver urn in a golden wreath. The Romans, in turn built statues to Hannibal after his death, as a worthy, if feared, adversary. I find keeping it here is a useful reminder of the benefits of challenge when someone particularly vexes me." 

Jack chuckled, though Will suspected it was less about the joke, and more to do with the thought of something bothering Dr Lecter, whose courtship bid stood against his own nominee. Jack was not a subtle man in his pleasures, and Will was just glad he was left out of the conversation for now. 

On the surface it might have seemed rude that Dr Lecter focused on Jack alone, but in truth the opposite was the case. Will wasn't the only one who was aware of what the man was doing, distracting and charming the other alpha, drawing him into conversation on topics that Jack knew enough about to leave him feeling knowledgeable and placated. Alana's eyes watched while she sipped her drink, warmly amused by her friend, and while Price perhaps didn't get the nuance of the situation, he was happier for having the more volatile member of their party being taken care of by someone else. 

Will contented himself with stroking the dog, and as time passed, a lot of the gathered tenseness started to ease off with the lack of necessary input from his direction. 

That was not to say that their host was neglecting them. Dr Lecter was using small movements when showing Jack something, or when the man looked away, to also keep track on the relative contentedness of his other guests. 

Eventually though, talk was turned towards dinner, and Will was surprised to find himself quite comfortable there, so much so that the thought of moving was not necessarily one of pleased escape. As he shifted himself, as well as Beatrice in order to get up, he had to consider that perhaps the extra delay had not been about Jack after all, but about offering him some time and space away from the family alpha to calm his nerves. Embarrassing as that was, he couldn't fault the man for its effectiveness. 

It was while he was folding the blanket to set it back beside the seat once more, feeling a little bit exposed after the comfort that it had offered, that he started to realize more fully just how greatly he had been preempted. 

He hadn't given very much thought for what seat he had chosen to sit on, but it had been one that the blanket had been set beside, unseen until needed. That seat was one of the ones nearer the fire, after the cold of the evening air, and one nearer the dog. Needing or wanting the comfort of the animal, he had chosen the seat closest to Beatrice's head, rather than on the other side, hoping that if she wouldn’t be interested enough to get up and come to him, she might at least tolerate him leaning down to stroke her. So he had sat there, in a seat whose position was slightly less in the spotlight of lamps than the others, one that had, he now noted, a couple of extra cushions for comfort than the rest. 

He understood, now that he was calm enough to take it in, that Dr Lecter had crafted a seating nest to help put him at ease, equipped with warmth, comfort and a large protector between him and the rest of the room. 

A glance up to the man saw the slight smile touch the edges of those eyes, an acknowledgement at his understanding. Yes, Dr Lecter had bought his comfort with strategic furniture placement and forethought. 

As they moved towards the dining room, Will excused himself briefly to wash his hands before dinner, so the scent of dog didn't follow him too obviously into the dining room. He couldn't help the slight flush that heated his face in the solitude of the small chamber, at the knowledge and intent behind Dr Lecter's actions so far. No matter that the man had yet to speak to him more directly tonight, he had made his position very clear on the matter, to Will at least. 

Jack, he knew, was largely oblivious. 

Entering the dining room, another surprise awaited him when, for it was not set for a formal dinner that he had anticipated with some trepidation, but instead the table was of a more intimate and informal setting. 

"It will just be us five at the table," Dr Lecter was telling them as they moved inside, "as none of my servants would be comfortable dining with guests." 

Perhaps that alone was the reason, for it would be impossible to pair people off for private conversation, although proximity alone would have ensured that, as the dinner at Mr Layton's house had proven. Still, as Will made his way around the table to where his setting was announced by the small beautifully handwritten card with his name, he thought perhaps that, much like the arrangement in the sitting room, that this was more likely to cater to his comfort. 

It wasn't long after they had seated themselves that the soup course was brought through by two beta servants, both men. One was a rather stoic sort of fellow whose demeanor made it likely that he was the head of the servants, while the other was a younger man with short cut brown hair and slightly wide eyes of someone who was taking in all he could of the differences in the room. Not quite as well-trained in terms of a servant, the younger one, but nothing to be particularly critical about either since his behaviour was just as precise as could be wished for. 

The soup was served in expensive but understated white porcelain bowls that had a raised band of gold around the outer edge. He wondered if this simplicity, compared to the more usual decorations that tended to flow with abundance around soup bowls, was a sign of the Dr’s more practical tastes, or if he merely disliked more flowery decorations. 

As Dr Lecter encouraged them to start, while the servants retreated, Will found that it was a mild fish soup with small hints of garlic, ginger and lemon that was as pleasing as it was warming. There wasn’t too much of it either, for which, despite it’s pleasant taste, he was grateful for, considering the nervous state of his stomach. 

Dr Lecter proved himself to be a charming host, guiding and encouraging the conversation with a light touch that had them talking about the family, Alana extolling the virtues of various family members, Jack preening over the family’s estates, and Price recounting a mildly amusing story about a trip with the children. Will was content to let them talk, their host not pressing him to do so, while Jack was certainly not above giving his own input when it might seem like any sort of conversation might spark between him and Dr Lecter. He would have time to talk to him later, and was rather relieved that he was not being pressed to contribute much. 

It was when he got to the end of his soup that he noticed that there was something painted at the bottom of the bowl. A light laugh from Alana across the table showed that she had finished her soup earlier than he, and seen it in her own. Once he had finished the last two spoonfuls, he could make out the beautifully painted fish that sat to the side of the base of the bowl. It was a playful sort of thing, and he had to once more re-evaluate what he knew of Dr Lecter, for playful had not been high on such a list of traits he had noticed. 

A glance over to his host saw the open pleasure the man exhibited, and though he was answering Alana, telling her about how he had found the dishes when travelling in France, Will knew from how he had angled himself that at least part of the man’s attention was on his own reaction. 

He found he was amused by the delicately painted fish, and perhaps hopeful for a more casually-minded man than had been seen this far. Hannibal Lecter had shown himself to be meticulous, thoughtful and now, perhaps, also humourous in his own way. It was more than he had thought he might learn tonight, certainly. 

He had to consider though, that with all this planning and careful manipulation of events, he could merely be seeing what the man wanted him to see. Probably was, in fact. The question would be, whether he could see what his host was not actively promoting. Beverly had not found anything much of note yet in her investigations of the man, other than a dedication to organisation and standards in his work that seemed only to aid in it. It was highly possible, guessing such a probe into his work life was inevitable, that such a show of humour in the choice of dishes was a way of counteracting any concerns over his relative seriousness or rigid characteristics. 

All of which might be overthinking the soup a tad much, on either or both of their parts. The soup, either way, was delicious. 

When they were finished and the soup dishes were taken away, Will hadn’t been sure what to expect from the main course. Through stories from Alana, carefully extracted in the preceding days, were often that the alpha loved to impress with his meals, and often prepared a great wealth of variety to satisfy and impress those guests, that was fairly vague, especially when the table was informally set. 

The soup, while delicious, had been relatively simple, and he had to think that the main course would likely be something far more extravagant to show the man’s skill in presentation, something he had seen in the beautifully carved turnip he had been given at Samhuinn. 

He worried about the potential for a very rich tasting course, as his stomach wasn’t feeling particularly settled despite the relative calm of the evening so far, but as the plates were placed in front of each person, he was once more left surprised and gratified by what was on offer. 

The plate that was set down held, not some vastly fancy offering, or not on the surface, but one that was of a less ornate fare, though one that was presented beautifully. A piece of salmon on a bed of vegetables had been cut into the shape of a smaller fish, suitable for each person in size, and covered with thin, delicate slices of potato to look like scales, and baked to golden perfection. There were two miniature terrines on the side, with some dark sauce, likely offering a counterpoint to the lighter tasting fare. 

As they all sat to eat, the table was dutifully quiet to take in the first bites of the meal, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. He hadn’t had fish like this for years. Something like this could be a fiddly dish to prepare, and often the family had opted more for meat roasts now that they were in town. That Dr Lecter had managed to get fresh salmon in the city, and at this time of year, was impressive. Nearly as impressive as how amazing it tasted. The potato scales were crispy around the edges from baking and the salmon was moist and perfectly cooked. 

It warmed him, such homely fare compared to what else might have been offered, and indeed, had been offered at other houses. It made him wonder, as he ever did, what had prompted the man to choose this. 

His gaze was thoughtful as he took in his host, and those knowing, pleased eyes turned towards him as finished the mouthful, awaiting for his response to the taste. In this at least, Dr Lecter was as predictable as others, in seeking affirmation and compliment to what he had provided, though that was not a detriment. Any thoughts he did have, however, were left to linger a while longer as Alana interjected with bright enthusiasm. 

"Oh, Hannibal! What a delightful spread, and so different to what I thought you might prepare! You always seem to know how to surprise with your dinners." 

"A seven course meal or huge spread would not have been fitting for an intimate dinner such as this. Part of the challenge is to find something both fitting and interesting to offer guests at the table." 

Dr Lecter’s face was amused as he replied, taking up a small amount of a terrine and eating it while she smiled and shook her head. 

"Your pride and skill are on show in this glorious meal, Hannibal. And when else but now is it as socially acceptable as during courting?" 

Will couldn’t help but let his gaze flicker from Alana across the table to Jack, not only to see how he was reacting towards the comment about the cooking, but also the very fact that Alana’s tone was exceedingly friendly. Too friendly? Jack, it seemed, had noted it too, and was now fast returning to a more thunderous countenance at the way Alana was even now leaning towards Dr Lecter, as if it was she, and not Will, whom he was courting. 

He didn’t think she was doing it on purpose, but she was too used to being around alphas in a certain way, and it had never hindered her in life. 

It made him uneasy though, as uneasy as it clearly did with Jack, who could say and do little right now, silenced in many ways by the very same etiquette that had allowed him to gain her attention himself those few years ago. 

Letting his gaze turn to their host, it seemed as if Dr Lecter, as far as he could tell from the polite demure over the compliments, was not actively seeking her attention, for his demeanor seemed no more warm than it did to anyone else at the table, which was a relief. 

Will forced himself to speak, as much about not allowing himself to fade into the background at his own courting, as it was to promote the peace at home when the inevitable fallout of Jack’s mood would happen. 

"This is really lovely," he said once he had finished the small amount he had eaten, small enough to be polite and not over-fill his mouth, something he had grown up learning under the watchful eye of Humphrey. "I hadn’t had baked salmon like this for years. What made you choose it?" 

Dr Lecter’s smile was pleased, hints of indulgence around the edges of it as he returned his gaze back to Will. 

"I cannot claim all credit, for your own Mrs Platts was kind enough to offer the suggestion." 

Despite his words, it was clear he was happy enough to take as much acclaim as he could, and indeed, even that dispensation towards Mrs Platts was more a way to discount it and take the majority of the acclaim for himself, not that it wasn’t justified of course. 

The information though, that was a surprise. Not only that he had he approached their cook, but he had actually been successful in the attempt. It was something he would have to ask her about later, but as the full impact of the effort the man had gone to for this meal was making itself known, there was a deep sense of satisfaction there, more even than he might have credited it. 

"I am surprised Mrs Platts didn't suggest a more challenging dish to impress us. She tends towards the theatrical sometimes." 

"That was perhaps my own doing, for I did not ask for what dish to make to impress you, but one that would make you happy." 

There was meaningful pause, brief as it was to go largely unnoticed by others, but encouraged that feeling of being indulged and pampered, like all the preparations and effort that had gone into the night were not only a hint of what he might expect with such a partnership, but also that this was his due. 

"What do you think of the terrine?" Dr Lecter asked after that pause, the words mild and interested, though his gaze was more fixated on his response. It was substantial and intense as it had not been with Alana, watching as he ate a piece of the rich meat on offer. 

He found that he craved the look, the knowledge of the lengths that the alpha had gone to, not only to select the cuts of meat, and choose the recipe, but to actually cook them himself, perfectly, to feed Will only the best. It was a heady feeling, and despite having been courting for a great number of years, something that he most often never felt he wanted or deserved, he was affected by it here and now. It was hard to question that look, so sure it was, and heat rose up his neck once more. 

"It's surprisingly pleasant. I don't usually enjoy gamey meat, but this is lovely." 

"I am glad to be able to broaden your horizons." 

Dr Lecter's gaze was warm and satisfied as he took in Will’s flushed state, evidently pleased with such an outcome. Will wondered, as he took another small piece and dipped it into the sauce, whether the alpha was mostly inured to the instinctual satisfaction of providing, considering how he was reputed for hosting large dinners, or whether he might be surprised, under the well cultivated exterior, how providing for an omega affected him. He had not, to Will’s knowledge, courted before. 

Would he have felt it when hosting a dinner with Alana? The question alone left him a little uneasy, not knowing the answer. 

Jack, evidently having temporarily silenced his conflicted emotions over Alana to allow Dr Lecter to engage Will’s attentions, interjected, having clearly decided that now was the time to put a stop to the pair’s meaningful looks. 

"What is it that I am about to put in my mouth?" 

"Venison and mushroom terrines, with bilberry sauce. A small taste of the forest, to accompany the fish." 

"Did you hunt them yourself?" 

Although the question was posed in a light, even interested manner, the true meaning of it was there just as clear as the pristine glasses sitting on the table. The condemnation that Dr Lecter had likely not procured the meat himself, and making him admit that. It was underhanded, but not outside the realms of general alpha posturing in society. 

"No, I saw that acquaintances of mine supplied the fare on your plate tonight. Hunting animals with a gun is not a hobby of mine." 

"And cooking is?" 

It seemed as if Jack had not forgotten the knowledge that their host had cooked the meal himself. Will wasn’t exactly pleased by this round of questioning, though he couldn’t say he was surprised. He watched as the two alphas locked gazes across the table, but made no effort to lessen such a question. If Dr Lecter couldn’t deal with Jack now, in a subject that was not exactly surprising to have been brought up, then he doubted he would feel that comfortable with him later on, knowing that Jack would still hold the upper hand. 

Instead, he merely watched and listened, eating a little more of the fish in silence, letting his general contentment be answer that the subject didn’t bother him significantly, though how Dr Lecter answered might well do. 

It was not their host whose voice interjected though, but Alana’s once more, her tone filled with amused frustration. 

"Jack, don’t be such a traditionalist. Just because you brought back a stag for my courtship meal like the delightful neanderthal you are, doesn’t mean everyone should." 

Will suddenly found his mouth dry, and beside him Price shifted slightly uneasily in his chair. It wasn’t so much that she had defended Dr Lecter when there should be no need, but that she was doing it in the same way that she would any other household disagreement, and with the same familiarity, as if both alphas were hers. 

"In many ways you could say that cooking is highly traditional in courtship, in it’s own way, Mr Crawford," Dr Lecter said, interjecting, "After all, there are many stories like that of Bellath, son of the deity Imu, who carved the finest cuts of meat and cooked it himself over the winter fire to feed to his mate. I would do no less for Mr Graham, had I such a fire. As it is, my kitchen stove shall have to suffice." 

"It has served you well," Price replied, the first significant thing he had said to their host since arriving. "I hadn’t had baked salmon since that trip to Largs about ten years ago when we went to visit my brother, do you remember?" 

That Price then turned to Will at this, as much looking for backup in this rather risky endeavour to limit Jack’s displeasure as anything, forced him to speak. 

"I remember. The weather had been particularly bad, but he had still managed to land a salmon for the table, despite being soaked through for hours." 

"Your brother enjoys fishing then, Mr Price?" 

It was a relief that the conversation was mutually agreed to be turned towards such things, and Will took a small sip from his glass to try and settle his nerves again as the talk flowed onwards around them, Dr Lecter’s clever mind easing the dissonance from the room. 

Each topic was light, and took the individuals around the table’s interests in mind. There was talk of the family betas and children, of fishing and travel, and of the various events that Alana had been to. There was even, briefly at least, mention of Will’s own work, though the subject was not lingered on, for which he was glad. He expected that Dr Lecter knew that, and had mentioned it only to ensure he was included, before allowing him to slip back into comfortable silence once more. 

He found, much to his own surprise, that having such subtle manipulations and focused intellect placed upon the task of ensuring his comfort and ease was flattering. 

It wasn't so much that the effort was made, for he was used to various alphas' behaviour by now, but the depth of thought and planning that had not only gone into the evening so far, the ones that were largely unnoticed by others, unlauded by anyone but by himself, that left him deeply gratified. This was not an alpha seeking constant visible recompense or adoration for all his actions. 

Will hadn't been aware, before now, just how much of a burden such constant strains were, until they were suddenly gone. How had he failed to understand before now just how much of an annoyance it was for him when alphas were so very obvious about their solicitude, one that drew attention not only to themselves to show how very good they were being, but also to the fact that Will might actually need help. Will hated needing help, and the fact that Hannibal Lecter was doing what he could to remove those burdens from Will without laying claim or attention to it, it was a gift that Will had not even known he had been seeking. 

He sat back in his chair a little more, letting that gift ease some more of the tension from him now he understood what their host was doing. It was like a carefully choreographed dance of words and actions, and now that he wasn't having to pay quite as much attention to what conversation he might be drawn into, for Hannibal was shielding him from that, he could start to appreciate more just how adept the man was at this. 

It was beautiful, in it's own way. 

The meal continued as a leisurely affair, but eventually their plates were cleared away and the desert was brought through. 

Will had thought there might be some manner of carved fruit perhaps, or some mousse or flummery for the table, but this was far more than that. 

On each plate, nestled in candied fruit sat a clear sugar globe, like a bubble in seaweed. Inside it, a small fish sat curled around some candied plants, small bright berries creating counterpoint, like jewels that shone around it. As Will bent down a little to get a better look, the candlelight from the table’s centerpiece cast light and shadows through the foliage and the rippled sugar, lightly dyed in hues of blues and greens to make it seem almost real water in how the flames flickered through it. 

Will let out an surprised and pleased laugh, unplanned and delighted. Yes, hidden under the polite exterior, Dr Lecter did indeed have a playful side. 

"I don’t even want to know how you managed something like this. It seems like magic," he said with a smile, "How should I go about eating it? If I shatter the bubble, it might damage what is inside before I have had a chance to see it properly" 

"However you like, but the sugar bubble does lift off, as you can see." 

He carefully lifted off the fragile bubble as shown, and set it to the side of the plate, getting a much better view of the contents within. 

"There’s two!" 

Dr Lecter smiled as he looked over at Will, more in his eyes than his lips, but still there hidden under the pristine surface. 

"Indeed. Better for offering compliment to each other." 

Will did not miss that rather blatant reference to one of their previous conversations, nor its symbolism. He had first thought that there was only one fish nestled on the plate, pale in colour, but he saw now there was, hidden amongst the candied foliage, a second one of dark hues that blended in. Nothing was ever simple with the Doctor it seemed, though that certainly didn’t detract from it’s appeal. 

"It looks lovely," he said, the grace of complimentary language curtailed by the distracting puzzle in front of him. In the background of his thoughts, he could hear Price and Alana pick up the conversation, but in truth his main focus was on the desert. 

This here, this was more than merely something to please him and make him smile. A man like Lecter wouldn’t have something so obvious as the previous conversation be it’s only message. It was a compliment to him that the alpha clearly expected him to understand the nuance that was in place here. 

He looked at those two fish as he picked up the small desert spoon, and he wondered which of the fish he was to represent. They were both bright and eye catching as the pale one was, in their own ways. Was Will the pale one that the general public’s gaze saw first, or was he the one hidden by shadows of what was clearly meant to be his home? Was it Dr Lecter then who was the pale one, a reiteration of how he saw their partnership, with him becoming the bright host while Will was allowed the shadows? 

As he took a moment to contemplate this, a thought surfaced that would not be put aside. With the edge of the spoon, he carefully took off the surface layers of the dark fish, and there, beneath it was a pale cream mousse. 

His gaze flickered once more to the alpha, who was in the middle of talking about a trip where he had come upon large, multi coloured carp, used more for decoration than fishing. Will tasted the desert on his spoon, finding it a brighter citrus flavour than he had been perhaps expecting. A sharp lemon with some other things, perhaps a hint of berry, to take the edge off the bitterness. He did the same to the other fish, finding a rich dark mousse under the pale coating, one that was rich and heady with cocoa, as well as something spicy that left his tongue burning ever so slightly. 

Hannibal was making little effort to hide the way his gaze now lingered on Will, as he took a little of each on his spoon, the two seemingly opposed flavours taken together. The result, when he put it in his mouth, was a surprising combination, the citrus combining with the heat of the spice, and mellowed by the richness of the cocoa into something that he had no easy words for. 

This flavour, he knew, wasn’t supposed to be comforting, or sweet, as many deserts were. This was a statement, but also something interesting to ruminate on later. A flavour that interests the mind, not merely the tongue. 

Would he rather have had a simple desert? That was what was put to him here. Could he honestly say he would rather have had sweet ice or fruit when he could have something so much more? It was a challenge of sorts, and Will, finding himself intrigued, took some more. 

Hannibal Lecter’s eyes smiled. 

It was fascinating, in its own way, to see what each person had eaten on their plate by the end. Alana had eaten most of both fish, but had treated them like separate deserts, eating one and then the other. Jack had foregone the chocolate fish mostly in favour of the citrus, and while he hadn’t eaten any, he had broken apart the delicate sugar globe with a sort of absent-minded destruction. Price on the other hand had eaten the chocolate fish completely, as well as quite a few of the bright candied peel and shards of the sugar globe. Will didn’t doubt that he was restraining himself from using the candied peel in some way to make ridiculous teeth with them. Will himself had tried a bit of everything fairly equally, though had found himself going back to the mixed fish mouses while he watched the rest of the table. 

He didn’t doubt that Dr Lecter had given such variety, not only to please his guests different tastes, but also to view this sort of interaction himself. The man seemed to delight in the facets of people’s behaviour and learning. Will wondered how much of the choice had been to see if Will also enjoyed these games, or merely for his own pleasure. 

In the end, it didn’t really much matter, for the results were the same, and as the plates were cleared away, he found himself engaged and satisfied by what he had consumed, both in the food, and otherwise. 

As they rose from the table to move back through to the sitting room, Will found that he was less anxious about the rest of the evening than he might usually be. Perhaps it was the fact that he had understood the wealth of consideration that had been placed, not only on making him comfortable, but also to cater to his own brand of insight, a way of communicating that sat less with words he would have to respond to. Dr Lecter had shown himself to be a clever and ingenious alpha, and the more he saw of him, the less he found himself worrying about what might be ahead because of that. 

Still, it didn’t do to be seen as being too eager, if for no other reason than Jack was still not entirely happy with them being here. Although he could not outright stop him from being shown around the house with their host, he could make such a thing far more troublesome by demanding an escort for Will. It was unusual, but not unheard of, and so it was perhaps best to show as little of his eagerness as possible. 

"Mr Hunt will be through shortly with some beverages. Mr Graham, if you would do me the honour of allowing me to show you around the house?" 

"Thank you, that would be pleasant." He allowed himself to be ushered out, while Dr Lecter made some placations to Jack and his family, before exiting as well and drawing the door closed with an almost imperceptible snick of the latch. It was with a graceful gesture that the alpha led the way, keeping quiet until they were far enough away from the other door that their voices would not be easily overheard. 

"Unless you particularly wish to see them now, I shant bore you with a room-by-room tour. There are, however, a couple of rooms in particular that I thought might interest you." 

Will inclined his head, allowing the alpha to dictate where they went this evening. Tonight was Hannibal Lecter’s performance, and this was his stage, and so, for now, he let the other show him what he wanted him to see. Will found himself interested in what that might be, considering how the evening had gone so far. 

The hallway they moved down was wide, as all large houses tended to exhibit. The architect’s design was as much about being able to cater to some of the more extravagant dresses some female omegas tended to wear as it was an expression of conspicuous wealth, that such a space could be dedicated only to moving between rooms. As it was, Will liked it merely due to the extra space that stopped the darker wallpaper and large paintings from seeming claustrophobic. The decoration was masculine and a little eclectic, with expensive paintings that hung along with carved wood and antler pieces. 

The room they entered was not too far from the sitting room, only one room distant. It was a fairly large room, with windows along one wall that were undoubtedly to let in early afternoon light during the day. There was no guesswork needed to understand that this was a music room, for various instruments sat on stands or in cases, shelves of music kept away from where most of the light would fall. 

The most noticeable piece was, though, the harpsichord, which sat in pride of place near the windows, where the early afternoon light would brighten the room considerably, though the lamplight of the evening rendered it far more intimate a setting. Despite this, his mood dipped rapidly at seeing it. 

"I don’t know if you knew this, Dr Lecter, but I have no skill with music, while you clearly have a great love for it." 

It was, perhaps, the first overt thing that he had noticed as being contrary to what might work between them. Omegas played and sang, generally very well, or practiced until they could. Will had no such skills, and in such a room, he couldn’t help but feel himself somewhat lacking. A jarring reminder of all he was not. 

"Mr Graham," Will looked up and over to where the alpha was standing, regarding him, waiting for his attention to focus before continuing. "The notions of society bother me little. It is I who plays these instruments, not some absent other, or wistful dream. It is enough that you would care to listen." 

It was another indication of how the alpha bucked the sub-gender trends, for alphas almost never took to music, unless it was for performance purposes. It might well be that, considering the amount of instruments in the room, but they seemed to indicate a general love of music that spanned beyond the remit of merely performing for an audience. 

It just left him feeling unexpectedly raw, finding yet one more thing that the man was good at, that he could not even attempt at matching. It wasn’t a competition, but all the same, it was a reminder how far he fell from the person he should have been. He could well imagine another omega, sitting here in this room playing an instrument that could accompany Dr Lecter. 

It was stupid to feel jealousy over an imagined person. 

"Do you have a favourite?" he asked, hoping to move his thoughts away from such things, and give the man the attention and politeness he was due. 

"Each of them have their own allure, though more often than not lately I have found myself at the harpsichord." 

Polite conversation had never much been his strong point, and he found himself lapsing back into silence as he drew a blank as to what else he might say. He should, he knew, be trying harder to shift the mood that had settled about him. Dr Lecter would not have brought him here just to look at the instruments, but likely to play them. Perhaps he thought it was romantic? A way to show a softer side of his personality in private perhaps. Will liked music, that was true, and he was intrigued as to the other man’s skill. Maybe the music would help lift his mood. 

"Would you care to play? I would like to hear you." 

Dr Lecter smiled at him, and it was a warm and unassuming smile, though one that had hints of regret touched to it to add to his words. 

"Perhaps some other day, when we are more comfortable with each other. It is too much right now to expect, when we are, both of us, pressured by time and circumstance." 

There was a knowledge given in that denial, that Dr Lecter wasn’t an alpha that was merely going to concede to a request merely because it was given. A reiteration of strength there, of the alpha’s own self-determination and confidence in his own beliefs. This then was something of a counterpoint to the extensive efforts the man had made throughout the evening for him, that he would make such efforts, but he would not go against what he believed to be the right course without good reason. 

Will was left wondering what else there might be that could offer some balance to the exceedingly skilled gentleman. 

"You are highly successful in many fields it seems. In your work, in society, in gambling, cooking and even playing music. Is there anything in which you don’t excel, Dr Lecter?" 

Will tried for levity, but likely not managing as well as he would have liked, and Dr Lecter regarded him a moment, before speaking. 

"Would you care for a drink?" 

The unexpected question made him blink a moment, understanding that perhaps while he hadn’t exactly been opaque, that it wasn’t something the other man was about to confess to. Others might have given some amusing and obviously false statements to let the topic blow past, but Dr Lecter seemed to merely intend on changing the subject, perhaps also to ease Will’s nerves a little with his favourite tipple. It couldn’t be that pleasant to be around him right then, with his mood having declined more obviously. 

"Some whiskey would be good, thank you." 

He let out a breath as the alpha moved to the door, thinking that he would bring one back, but it was with evident patience that did not seem strained, that he waited at the door for Will to follow. 

Caught out by his drifting thoughts, he hurried to catch up to the other man, dipping his head a little in silent apology. 

"I have some whiskey in the study," Dr Lecter said, closing the door behind them, habitually tidy it seemed, before moving them deeper in the house. "I often spend time in here, when other matters do not draw my attention." 

The door was held open for him, and he stepped into what was clearly a gentleman’s study, though it could also have been aptly called a library for the wealth of knowledge upon the numerous shelves. 

"Please make yourself at home, Mr Graham, and I will get us that drink." 

Will moved in, and it became very clear that the alpha did indeed spend a great deal of time here. The room was not only saturated by the scent of books and well worn leather, but of the alpha himself. The elusive scent of the man was more prominent in here, though by no means overpowering. It teased at the edges of his senses, a puzzle that he found himself following around the room to the places where the man had been the most. 

"You wished to know my flaws." 

Will startled from his thoughts and looked up sharply over to the man, moving over to receive the glass he was offering. The alpha moved back over to get his own, where he paused, tilting the glass a little from those long fingers, his gaze thoughtful as he looked back at Will, choosing his words. 

"You don’t need to," Will said quickly, wishing he could down the whiskey but he had already made enough of a mess of this evening already without adding to it further by not savouring the experience liqueur. "It was rude of me to say, I apologize." 

"You apologize too easily. This is why you are here tonight, is it not? To see if we are compatible. You cannot make such judgements without the information, and it seems churlish of me to make you guess after such a request. You have a right to know, and so I shall tell you, because you have asked." 

The man's voice was mild, pleasant, but Will was left off-balance by this. So much of the Dr seemed to be one of hidden games, effortless control, that this sudden insight, offered freely, was in some ways shocking. Will moved over and sat himself down. Was this another game? Was this going to be a message within a message, like the other things tonight, or would it be plain, as the man had said, merely because he asked. 

Was it the asking then, that was important to him? By asking, it could be given, and thus still controlled by the alpha, rather than found out. A trust, offered, but only because it was based on rules? 

"I can tell you that I have no skill at general gardening," Dr Lecter said as he to came to sit on the seat opposite. "I enjoy keeping small herbs and plants for cooking, but I have no tolerance for large scale outdoor gardening, and have no wish to learn it. I cannot sail a boat or ship, nor do I have any skill with a gun. Although I have some moderate strength, I have no skill nor joy in manual labour. But these are mostly superficial things. You would, I think, wish to know something a bit deeper." 

Will remained silent, listening to this and not interrupting. It was unusual for an alpha, especially one courting, to offer such glimpses of themselves without Will seeking past the surface himself. Yes, Hannibal was offering these things in a controlled way, peeling back the layers to show what was beneath, and almost daring Will to find fault with them, even ‘flaws’ as they were. 

"I am not often given to leaving a mess, a habit kept from my training as a doctor and surgeon. I would not ask you to keep as strict a hold on such things, but you will find the servants clearing up after you, as they are used to living with that particular habit of mine. 

"You should also know that although it isn’t often outwardly seen, I am quick to anger over certain things. I abhor rudeness, slovenly behaviour as well as crassness, especially if they are imposed upon those I consider family or close acquaintances. I also tend towards being vengeful until a situation is resolved to my satisfaction, as well as somewhat controlling and possessive over those I consider under my protection." 

It was a calculated risk, telling Will all this, especially the more personal flaws. There were a lot of omegas who would balk at such a list, especially if given out of context as this was. In many ways, the alpha was trusting Will to be intelligent enough to not make such snap judgements, or at least to think more critically how it might impact on their time together. 

"And how do you see this controlling behaviour emerging between us?" Will asked, curious but also cautious. Dr Lecter did not seem like Jack, but having been on the receiving end of such behaviour for years now, he was wary of it. 

"I wouldn't say it would be any more apparent than you have already been witness to." 

Strangely perhaps, Will found himself reassured. Either the things that Dr Lecter said of himself were not as bad as they could be, or he was good enough at manipulation that should such problem arise between them, it would be dealt with by that same skill. 

It should scare him, that he was, in essence, relying on the possibility of having himself manipulated and managed enough to be comfortable, but he remembered well enough how that had felt before and during dinner. What a relief it had been. He couldn’t help but think of that same comfort in the weeks ahead when he could indulge in the lie of courtship, away from the pressures of home and those in it. 

Still, this sort of thing was, like any good conversation, to be partaken of by both people. It would feel akin to lying not to offer something himself. After all, Will had far more obvious flaws than the effortlessly controlled alpha. 

"I should warn you," he said, "although mother has likely already done so, and as you have borne witness to some of it, that my nerves are not easily managed. You have impressive restraint, but unless you suffer from nose blindness, everyday life, even in the home, will be difficult. All the family alphas are under constant strain from it, and it would be remiss of me not to make you more acutely aware of this, since it will affect what will happen in the house and especially any outings." 

To give the alpha credit, he did not immediately disabuse or dismiss the notion, but gave it some consideration before answering. 

"Your life right now is not stable, Mr Graham. Each new facet or change that comes into your life is a threat to the careful balance that you maintain. When you are in a position of calm, are you not more clear-headed and productive? It is the same with this. You retreat and defend your position, because no one else has been doing it for you." 

"I’m not talking about just the last few years when Mr Crawford came to the household, but my whole life. This isn’t some passing difficulty that will suddenly disappear when under a new roof with a new person for a couple of months. If anything, it is far more likely to be that much greater." 

"You do not believe that you will find a mate this year then?" 

"All this," Will said, gesturing around them, though the broader gesture captured the entirety of his situation, "There is nothing permanent about it. I cannot return to trying to fool myself into believing in something that will disappear after my heat is over. You have not courted much, I think, but for me it has been thirteen years of glimpsed lives I could have, before they are shattered at the end of my heat. Do you understand? I cannot trust in it, like some folktale, that it will suddenly offer the rock for foundations that it promises. I will break, Hannibal. I do not have much left to fend off that inevitability." 

Across from him, Will’s gaze was drawn to where the alpha’s hands that were on the arms of the chair, long fingers suddenly tense in his struggle for restraint. It was a small thing, one that many would not have noticed, but it made Will’s heart beat faster, his gaze rising swiftly to the alpha’s own, that tenseness in them both waiting for what the alpha would do. 

It was perhaps only a couple of seconds, a brief lapse in the otherwise flawless exterior, that the gentleman forced his fingers to relax, though his eyes were fixed upon Will. 

"You will not break," the alpha said, his voice as sure as his gaze that held Will with a power he could not look away from. "Should the mating not take this season, you will find me seeking your presence each year past it. My door will always be open to you, William, no matter what time of day or night. You need only come, or send word, and I will be there." 

Will let out a breath, frustrated and disturbed by the sudden fixation from the other man. He should have known better than to let his words run so freely to an alpha. 

"You cannot guarantee that, nor put yourself under such an oath. I would not ask it of anyone! Do you think none have tried before now? You are not a fool, so do not let yourself become one now. You would be rendering yourself without a mate for the rest of your life." 

Dr Lecter leaned back in his seat, absently plucking his cuffs back into place before he relaxed more fully into the leather. 

"If that is to be so, then I shall indeed remain without a mate. Do you think me so blinded by society’s blinkers, that I would turn you down merely for a step up in prestige by some pretty face who would sooner demure to me than offer valid conversation?" 

"I don’t know what to think any more! I’m so tired of all this, Hannibal. Year upon year, it is exhausting." 

Hannibal paused for a moment then bowed his head in acknowledgement. 

"I apologize, William. I did not mean to distress you this evening. Come, let us go and see the dogs. They will be pleased to offer you some solace where I cannot, for now." 

He looked back up and over to Hannibal, trying, trying to hold himself together, to calm down. He knew that his nerves would be trying on the alpha, who would even now be fighting against his instincts to come and soothe him. That he did so without any visible effort now was both impressive as well as reassuring in its own way of the alpha's control. 

"No. No, I’m sorry. This isn’t anything like I planned for. I didn’t come here to see the dogs. I shouldn’t just hide behind them. I came to see you." 

He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the carefully combed locks in his distress and turmoil. 

"I don’t mean to be such a mess," he added, "Usually at these courting things I just come for dinner, look around the house, have a quick chat and head home again. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening with all this. You would have found out eventually, but," he sighed, trying to stop his apologetic ramblings, sighing in frustration. 

He was startled out of his spiraling internal catastrophizing by the sudden appearance of the alpha in front of him. He had not heard or marked his approach. 

"You have ruined nothing," the man said, carefully refilling the glass that Will didn’t remember drinking. "You have come to me with the truth of your very self, and I will not, ever, be disappointed in such a trust." 

Will took a sip of the expensive whiskey, trying to appreciate it as he had clearly not done before, but his attention was truly solely on the alpha, as he watched him replace the decanter on the tray before opening a chest and drawing out a blanket., and listening to him speak. 

"I do not find myself dissuaded to court you in all the ways I have stated, no matter your worries. The evening, from my perspective, is therefore very favourable if I can now offer you some ease for the remaining time of it. There is no call to do anything but relax. We need not do anything else." 

He looked up at where the alpha was holding the blanket to him, and, setting the glass aside, he took it, his fingers sinking into the soft fabric. 

With all the Doctor’s games and the hidden dance of meanings, he had not ever thought to find something like this. A very simple offer of space to try and unwind before he had to inevitably head back home where all the usual pressures would be there, especially from Jack. To just have space for an hour, where he need not speak or do anything except sit, it was an unexpected gift. 

Making a decision, he leaned down and untied his shoes and took them off, before curling up on the sofa more fully. He should never be this casual around a suitor on the first evening out, but with a glimpse of insight, he realised that the other man wasn’t treating him like a suitor. By offering him this casual space, where he need not sit with propriety, nor concern himself overmuch with the state of his suit, or what exactly to say, he was already treating him as an intimate friend and partner. Will wasn’t sure he could say the same, especially so early, but for now at least, he wasn’t going to turn down a chance at some peace. 

Perhaps guessing his thoughts, Hannibal spoke, his voice quiet and reassuring as he settled down on the seat across from him, a book on his lap. 

"I will be here, William, as your suitor and your friend, no matter what else happens." 

"Is this a warning that you have become possessive over me?" Will asked with a small smile, just a hint of playfulness attempting to show now that there wasn’t so clear a pressure over the evening’s events. 

"That it is. I am afraid, dear William, you have no escape now." 

The alpha’s eyes were warm and fond as he looked at him, long fingers opening the book in his hand at a ribbon, before leaning back in his own seat. 

Will found a small smile tugging at his lips, and settled down a little more comfortably. Just as he closed his eyes, a low sound started up in the room, very faint, but it brought his eyes open sharply once more. 

Dr Lecter sat in his seat, apparently unconcerned, reading from a book. The soft turn of the page not entirely hiding the low rumble that hinted at the edges of his senses. 

How long had it been since he had heard an alpha purr? Not for five or six years, and even then it had been in the midst of his heat. It was so rare to hear it outside of mated couples or close family bonds, a sound made to calm and reassure omegas. 

He couldn’t think that the man was unaware of what he was doing, even if most would never be able to produce it on purpose, but even so, he was scared to draw attention to it in case it stopped. He let out a slightly shaken breath and closed his eyes, snuggling under the blanket a little more and letting himself indulge in that rare sound. 

It was an impressive, if manipulative, trick, but he couldn’t find it in himself to fault the alpha, considering the state he had ended up in tonight. 

He closed his eyes, letting the soft sound wash over him. What would it be like, his rebellious instincts murmured to him, not just to hear it, but to be pressed up against the alpha and feel that rumble too? 

\-- 

As a light knock came to the door, Will blinked, momentarily disorientated by the fact that he seemed to have fallen asleep. Dr Lecter was already across the room, speaking in a low murmur while Will roused himself. 

He had never meant to fall asleep, and the fact that he had done so was surprising in and of itself. He had only meant to rest his eyes, and not give any encouragement to conversation by looking around, having wanted to see whether the alpha could indeed keep to his offer of peace, or if temptation to communicate or offer something else would win out. 

Putting his shoes back on, he stood, running a hand down over his suit, likely crumpled badly now, but he didn’t mind too much. It was time to head home, almost, and so no one would see it except for his family, and the alpha whose offer had prompted the disarray. 

As he reached down to fold the blanket though, he noticed something that he had not before, pausing. A quick glance to the door showed Hannibal still engaged there, and he brought the blanket up to his nose. Yes, there. He hadn’t noticed it before, too stressed, and the whole room had hints of it, but the blanket did indeed smell like Hannibal. 

Did the alpha use the blanket himself? Or had he scent-marked it in preparation for Will, to have him relax with it, a bit of comfort that would render the alpha’s scent associated? There was positive deniability there, but if it had been premeditated, then it was a clever thing to have done. Manipulative, but clever. Will didn’t doubt that with him having fallen asleep, it would only have rendered the effect more strongly. 

He set the blanket down on the sofa where he had been curled up and moved over to where the alpha was turning back towards him with a smile. 

"We should not leave your family waiting any longer, although if you wish your jacket pressed before you go, that could be arranged." 

"That won’t be necessary, thank you, Hannibal. My family are used to my being a bit of a mess at the best of times, and we will be going directly home afterwards so my coat will aptly hide it," he said, following the man out the door. "How long have we been away?" 

"A little under two hours. Perfectly acceptable for this sort of meeting. Did you rest well?" 

The last words were said lightly, but Will couldn’t help but feel that it held overtones of a slightly smug notion of certainty, that he had indeed slept exceedingly well. He could be reading too much into it thought. Difficult to tell with how he was still feeling a little woozy after the nap. 

"Very well thank you. It was an unexpected boon." 

"My pleasure, I assure you." 

Will didn’t bother to respond, the satisfaction in the alpha’s tone told well enough how true that was. 

As they got to the living room and stepped in, Will was met with the unusual, but not unpleasant, vision of Price sitting on the carpet playing with a puppy. His puppy. Upon seeing them, the alpha got himself up, the pup still trying to climb on his lap and tug the toy from his hand. 

"We did not keep you too long, I trust?" Hannibal asked from beside him as Will smiled at the somewhat disheveled family alpha. 

"Not at all, Hannibal," Alana said from where she was seated on the sofa, a glass of what appeared to be sherry in her hand. "We were kept aptly amused." 

Will was distracted from the disapproving glower that Jack sent him at the state of his suit, by the enthusiastic realisation by the pup that there were indeed more people to meet. However before the pup could leap up on him, Hannibal made a slightly sharp and disapproving noise from his side, and just like that, the pup stopped, quivering with the need to come and see them, but seeming, even at this young age, to have been trained when it was not appropriate to. It stood there, its entire back end wiggling with enthusiasm, yet still held itself back. 

Hannibal looked in question to Will, who shrugged slightly. He knew his suit was going to need cleaned after this anyway, and crouched down. Even so, the puppy stayed where it was, although the noises it was making at having to stay were both pitiful and adorable. 

"Very well then," Hannibal said, "Greet." 

The puppy all but launched itself at Will, all legs, slobber and enthusiasm that left him sitting on the floor in a far more dishevelled state than Price had been, and caring not one jot. Alana was laughing, and over the top of the pup, he could see Price’s smile. 

Moving past him, Hannibal saw to refreshing the contents of people’s glasses, before settling himself down on a seat, talking idly with those in the room, though Will was very aware of the alpha’s gaze upon him more often than not. It was not a heavy gaze, and it did not bother him so much as make him aware of the alpha in a way that even the puppy could not distract from. 

In the end, it was over an hour later that they left the Lecter household, Will having extracted himself from under an exhausted, sleeping pup with some reluctance. In the carriage on the way home, Will was silent, the faint residual tingling on his hand from the farewell kiss there, a reminder of what had been talked about that evening, of the promises given. Such promises had been given before, oaths of dedication and resolute attendance, but he got the feeling that perhaps Hannibal might well be more dedicated to such a thing. Only time would tell, of course, but the notion of that promise sent a shiver through him, equal parts hope and fear for what it might mean. He sat a little deeper in the seat, and selfishly wondered what it might be like to have such a man, even unmated, at his side. 

\-- 

Hannibal watched as the carriage drew away, the lamps fading into the night beyond, although the warmth and satisfaction from the visit lingered despite the chill in the air and the tails of freezing fog that drifted. The chill of winter had never bothered him, and the memory of the evening was heady and delightful. 

He wouldn’t say there had been no surprises. Alana’s behaviour in particular had been highly amusing to him. Flattering, in its own naive way. Ah, but dear William. He could not have fully anticipated that conversation, raw and delightful as it had been. 

It had taken him by surprise, as not much could, how strongly he had found himself reacting to that admission of need. He might have been angry about the unknowing trap those words held, had he not already been set upon the course they led. As it was, he found himself rather pleased, that his instincts were just as set upon the course of action as he was. 

Closing the door and engaging the lock, he turned just as a shadowed figure emerged behind him, having waited there while the doorway was secured before stepping into easier sight. 

"Are you set on this one then? He seems a bit fragile." 

The voice of the man was lilting and cultured, the tang of the old world hidden amongst the accented english he had chosen to use tonight. Hannibal paused, not displeased to find him there, though surprised, perhaps, that such a journey had been made. He considered the question as he turned and made his way back down the hallway, the well-dressed figure walking with him into the room beyond. His pause before answering was far less about deciding, than it is about the beautiful memory of William slumbering in his study earlier. 

He had been exquisite there, having fallen asleep so soon after having settled. Considering William’s nervousness around people, it had shown a considerable amount of trust that he would feel comfortable enough to sleep in his presence. Of course, he had helped that along, but it didn’t detract from the outcome. 

"He has survived through the harshest of winters, Uncle. He is mine." 

The words, verbally given, set something inside of himself more at ease, as if they had been waiting to be given substance by their telling. Perhaps the other gentleman could feel it to, for his manner seemed to warm, some small sign of watchfulness easing back towards contentedness. 

"Then I am glad for you, Hannibal. Bring him to visit when it is sealed between you both." 

Hannibal nodded, and could see the other alpha smiling, pleased for him in this and what it would mean. He was dressed this evening in an exquisitely tailored outfit far more befitting of the town than of their homeland, and Hannibal was left to wondering why he had appeared in it now. Robert Lecter, much as he himself, did very little, if anything, without a reason. 

Moving into the sitting room, the pup having already been taken back to settle down with the others, the room was still filled the scents of those who had so recently vacated it. 

"Why are you not at home now?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. There was little reason to deny the impulse, not with family. 

He moved over to the drinks cabinet to get something for them both. It went without saying that his uncle would not be staying. He never would, not for long at least. A few moments, here and there, perhaps an evening together if times were favourable. 

"Your sister is in with a youngster alpha she is allowing to spend this season’s heat with. It won’t come of anything, but he amuses her for now." 

Hannibal frowned, turning at last to look at him more directly, troubled by this. He should not be here. Robert was the only alpha in their estate, and to have left her alone without protection seemed fulhardy at best. 

"You left her alone with him?" 

He knows his words are clipped. Judgemental. No alpha would take it well, or, if he was almost anyone else he wouldn’t. But Robert was family, and that made the difference, in their family at least. 

"Hardly," the elder alpha said mildly, "Chiyoh is there, and I shall be back soon enough. I didn’t want to miss seeing your prospective mate." 

Hannibal forced himself to pour the drinks and move over to his uncle to hand one over. He had to believe that Robert knew best about the situation at the family’s estate, though it was a strain on his instincts to know that his sister was there with an unfit alpha, no matter how temporary that position was. It grated on his thoughts, like talons digging out from within. 

Then the presence of his uncle there in front of him, deep as the ancient forests, a hand settling on his shoulder that helped ease the tension beginning to climb, despite his control. He let his breath ease out, the steady grip on his shoulder offering solidarity and understanding in their combined tasks. If Robert said she was safe, then she was. 

That his uncle had come tonight to see if William was worth his nephew’s time, went without saying. Hannibal knew the man would have picked up all the subtle signs of his focus on the omega, and seemed to be willing to let the situation continue as it was. He didn’t doubt that should William have been seen as unsuitable, they would be having an entirely different conversation right now. 

"Did you see the pups?" he asked at last, acknowledgement there of their accord, in the changing of the subject. "I thought to give you and Mischa those we don’t keep." 

The hand on his shoulder lingered a moment longer before slipping away as Robert took his drink over to lean against the mantlepiece. 

"Yes. They will be fine hounds. When will you bring them?" 

"After the middle of next month, when I have time." 

An easy chuckle from the older man that brought memories of childhood at his side, listening to the stories of ages, the triumphs and the pitfalls of humanity. He stood there, as he had back then, intriguing and timeless, dressed up now in modern clothing, drinking aged whiskey. 

"So busy with all your little projects. Very well. I shouldn’t linger tonight. Just remember to get the blessings on Midwinter if you really want Mr Graham." 

Hannibal smiled, reminded once more of the evening’s events, rather than his concerns over family. William would soon be part of that too. 

"I will." 

He could hear his determination, the certainty of those two words. There would be no mistakes, no errors, he would make sure of that. William Graham would be his. 

His uncle smiled, his task this evening seemingly completed. Downing the last of the whiskey in his glass before setting it aside, he let a knowing smile linger on his lips, pleased, as he passed Hannibal, heading deeper into the house, before slipping out the back door and into the night beyond. They would see each other again soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So wow, this chapter ended up totally massive, but I didn't want to post just half of it, because that would end up being right in the middle of dinner, and that would just be rude!
> 
> A heads-up though, that I am taking a break from posting this for a couple of months.   
> Quick background, I have autism and ADD, and am resistant to almost all medications for the latter. Back in February I had to come off the only one that seemed to work even a little, because of the side effects, and I have been struggling since. It takes me longer to get things done now, which is another reason why this chapter was delayed. I know you guys are used to authors who post prolifically, but even getting one chapter a month has been really difficult for me, and I need a break to get on top of things again and not burn myself out. 
> 
> I have a couple of small side projects I want to play with, more planning of this plot, reorganising and answering questions for the agony uncle section, as well as try and get some stuff other than writing done in my functional time. I am going to aim to get the next chapter out on the 18th of September, to get back onto the schedule. 
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please do leave comments and kudos if you can. I really enjoy getting your thoughts and feedback.


	12. Clocks and Carriages

**_Frampton Residence, London - Wednesday the 4th of November, evening_**

It had been two days since Will had spent the evening with Hannibal, and far longer since he had last seen Lieutenant Anderson, and right then, that distance was entirely too stark. Currently, there was nothing he would rather do than make as hasty an exit as he could from the current residence of Mr Frampton. 

Mr Frampton was the last out of this season's list of alphas that Will had allowed to initially court him. He had been chosen, at the time, for the thoughtfulness of the gift he had offered at the first ball. That wish to please had been in evidence from the moment he had entered the front door, and contrary to expectations, Will dearly wished it gone. 

"This is the day room. I had it done up recently in this particularly fetching shade of blue. I am told it is very in fashion right now, especially with omegas, but should you not like it, I shall think nothing to change it immediately to whatever you desire." 

It was certainly a far cry from the tour of Mr Layton's home, and yet the solicitude, which had been constant and pressing from the first moment, was exhausting, but worse, the need for choices, and answers, was straining the tenuous hold on his nerves. 

"I am sure that won't be necessary, Mr Frampton. The room is very pleasant." 

It seemed churlish to be irritated at how easily the alpha was managed, watching the clear pleasure in the man at the mild compliment. 

Truthfully there was little wrong with the alpha. Although slightly on the rotund size, he was friendly and approachable, with a mild manner and an open willingness to please that was rarer these days. With an omega who was less troubled by anxiety and more pleased by someone easily directed, he would make a fine partner. Just not with Will. 

Room after room they wandered through, and he was struggling to keep his nerves in check. The man hovered, closer as the evening wore in, the alpha's own anxiety growing when the omega with him was showing more signs of stress, not less. Will knew he couldn't help it, few alphas could, but it was only making the feeling escalate in an unpleasant manner. 

"Are you sure I can't offer you a drink, Mr Graham? Some tea, or sherry perhaps?" 

Mr Frampton was hovering close, his hands clasped in a way that made it clear he was desperate to reach out to try and comfort, but had been warned against doing so, by etiquette if nothing else. That such forbearance appears to be straining, the threat that he would give into those instincts and touch, it certainly didn't help calm Will's nerves, quite the opposite. 

"Thank you, no," Will was forced to say again, "I might be more at ease if we return to the sitting room however." 

"I have made you uneasy. Is it the painting? I shall dispense with whatever it is that might make you easier by its absence, just say the word!" 

Will was quite sure the headache he had brewing was going to be a spectacular one, but at least it would give a legitimate reason to leave early without causing more acute distress in his host. Though, as Will glanced his way, perhaps that particular concern would happen either way. 

"It is not the painting, I assure you. I merely have a growing headache and find myself ill disposed as a result." 

"Oh, my dear Mr Graham! Should I call for a doctor? I would not see you suffering for all the world!" 

Calm breaths, Will, calm breaths. 

"That won't be necessary, Mr Frampton. I may need to cut my visit short however and retire for the evening." 

The alpha's disappointment was palpable, along with the desperation to see Will better. The warring scents made him feel a little nauseous. 

Walking back to the sitting room, a flicker of his gaze to his mother proved enough, and she was rising, promptly taking control of the situation. 

"Oh dear, have you come upon a headache, Will?" she asked, having moved over to insert herself in between them both, something that forced Mr Frampton to retreat lest he be upon the receiving end of her alphas’ displeasure. "We should get you home then. Rest will certainly do you some good." 

It was rare these days that he felt protected by Alana's presence, and he allowed himself to be moved and directed by her, knowing she was far more able right now to say the right things to extract themselves quickly. Jack, he could see, was helping facilitate the exit, likely glad to be gone so he could return to thinking about work, rather than being stuck at another alpha's house potentially for hours more. 

Will was barely aware of what was going on around him by the time he was guided into the carriage. He thought he had said farewell to Mr Frampton, but it all seemed a bit too muddled and dreamlike in the disassociation to be certain. 

"Too nice?" Price asked after a couple of minutes of silence in the carriage. 

"Not enough." 

Not enough strength. Not enough intellect and insight. Not enough restraint. Not enough. 

Price made a noncommittal sound and thankfully left him in peace for the rest of the journey. He would need the sleeping draught tonight, for blissful oblivion. 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Saturday 7th November, morning_**

With all the alphas from Will's courting shortlist having now been seen individually, and enough time had passed since the last visit to steady his nerves, he was at liberty to visit them once more as he chose. The list, he had to admit, was rather short this season, with only Lieutenant Anderson and Dr Lecter remaining as hopefuls. Still, he was interested in them both more than many he had been with in the past, so he tried not to worry. Neither of them would be so ungalant as to leave him without their company during his heat if he called on them, after all. 

So it was that this morning his thoughts had returned to Dr Lecter. 

The evening at Dr Lecter's house had been interesting and intriguing, not only because there had been a great deal going on that was unstated, but also because of what the man had offered. Will got the feeling that, at least at first, the alpha would be careful to never tread too close to things that may trigger his nerves, doing, much as he had in the evening, a great deal to ensure the calm in the household to help him settle there. 

He was sure that, in time, there would be challenges offered, much as he had seen in the subtle use of the food choices and the layers of meanings in the desert, as well as the rest, but the man seemed to be greatly adept at balancing such things. He didn't doubt that there were many things that had likely slipped by his notice, and in some ways, strangely, that was reassuring. The subtle manipulation, in easing him into new situations might very well be the best way. It was, at least, somewhat familiar from the calm press of Humphrey's expectations through his life. 

Lieutenant Anderson on the other hand offered a quite different sort of life, though no less appealing. A life with the Lieutenant would be one that offered little challenge that Will himself did not instigate. He could see the man being of the sort to relentlessly support Will in whatever he did, and, assuming it didn't go against his health or safety, would do everything in his power to give him what he wanted, whether support or calm. After the increased stress at home lately, with Jack being more pushy and disagreeable, that sort of calm life was rather appealing. 

Of course, all this was neither here nor there, and he couldn't make himself think otherwise. Short term was really all he could hope for, and imagining building a future life around one of the gentlemen was only setting himself up for a harsher fall afterwards. 

So it was to Dr Lecter that he focused his attention, for the clever intelligence of the man would see, perhaps, what he needed, and didn't seem to begrudge it. He had a way about him that made such allowances outside of the social norms seem more like a gift to be savoured, than an imposition. The sheer possibility of not having to make a great amount of small talk, or effort right now at conversation, was more of a draw after the lingering effects of his nerves from his last visit out to Mr Frampton. 

The fact that Dr Lecter had puppies at the house may also have factored into his decision. 

So Will made his way down to the breakfast room, hoping to catch Alana and Jack to ask for use of the carriage while the morning was early enough not to have had anything to rouse his temper. The family had two carriages, and barring some important event, at least one of them was generally always available, especially so during courting season when access to them was vital for visits. Usually even Jack was only ever dropped off at the police station, rather than using a one of them for the entire day. 

However, as he entered, he found, to his inner dismay, that Alana had already left the room, the sounds of youthful temper tantrums from deeper in the house giving reason enough for her absence. His younger siblings were not, what you might call, subdued in their manner. 

He had a short moment to decide whether to make his excuses to find Alana, or continue in and have breakfast with Jack and Zeller, who were currently the only ones in the room. He would, if he was honest, rather avoid both of them, but the fact was that if he wanted to go out today, he was going to have to ask for the use of a carriage, and Jack was in charge of those. 

With an inner sigh at the necessity, he moved further in and went to plate himself some food from the spread available. Not too much, he didn't want any reason to linger in here too long, and his stomach was never particularly settled first thing in the morning. 

"I'm telling you," Zeller was in the middle of saying, and had not stopped upon seeing it was Will, "It's the story of the three brothers and the forest. Heard it a couple times when I was young. I bet you the third one will be someone good in combat, probably an alpha. That's how it goes." 

They were talking about the Ripper, of course. Nothing quite like discussing serial murderers at the breakfast table. 

"Will, you have heard the story, surely?" Zeller asked, clearly looking for backup in his attempt to impress Jack. Will shifted a little, putting some bacon back on the serving platter, knowing he would want out of the breakfast room sooner rather than later. 

"Sorry, I was never taught that one." 

There was a pause as Zeller waited for him to do the polite thing and ask about the story, but he didn't, merely moving to the table to seat himself. He wanted nothing to do with murderers or crime scenes, especially not when he was eating, and wasn't about to encourage it. Zeller frowned and looked back to Jack, launching into the tale despite this. 

"It was one of those old cautionary tales, like the three brothers that got the kingdom's riches split between them and fought each other, only to find that they were meant to work together to make the kingdom prosper. It was like that, but it was about surviving through the winter. First brother chopped down trees I think, to make a bigger fire. The second brother declined to be bothered by winter, and chose to attempt to drink and be merry throughout the winter months to keep it away, but died anyway. The third brother went to kill animals for food, but got killed in turn. 

"It fits, you see? The first guy was made up to look like a tree, and the omega, Summerville, a cheerful performer, and there was mead on her lips. It has to be this! We could put the word out to warn people to be extra careful, or even lay a trap." 

Will picked at his food, given brief reprieve from the conversation when Peter came in to add more toast to the breakfast array before leaving again. The quiet snick of the door closing felt a little too much like being trapped, though you wouldn't know it from the more jovial appearance of Jack today. He seemed, at least, in a fairly good mood. 

"What do you think, Will?" 

The question did not surprise him. If anything, he had been waiting for it. Dreading it. He did not want to get pulled into the murder more when it was far past the point when he could be of best use. Anything he offered now would be mediocre at best, the evidence long gone. 

"As I said, I don't know the story, and couldn't say with any certainty," he said, having all but given up on his breakfast now, his stomach now far more unsettled with the conversation and its portents. It was perhaps better to just get this out the way. "I was hoping to use the carriage later on today." 

He could feel Jack's gaze upon him, the pressure in the room from his presence a weighty thing, but nothing particularly distressing as of yet, despite the fact that there was currently no one in the room that would actively object to it. 

"Oh? Where were you thinking of visiting?" 

"Dr Lecter's residence," he said, before adding "I was hoping to have another chance to see the puppies." Considering that Dr Lecter was not Jack's first choice for his heat, he figured it would be better to mitigate the visit with something that did not denote a particular preference. 

"I can't spare the carriage to go so far across down. Perhaps you should visit someone a little closer instead" 

Will looked up from his breakfast place in shock. 

"What, both of the carriages?" 

Jack sat there, looking so effortlessly pleased with himself. Smug, even. 

"Yes, both. It isn't just your needs that I have to take into consideration, Will. And anyway, we can't have you going to important house calls in the small carriage. What sort of impression would that give?" 

While he had known that the alpha would not particularly want him visiting Dr Lecter, he had not considered that this would be his reply. That he would try to stop Will from visiting at all! 

"You aren't allowed to stop me from seeing my suitors, Jack. It goes against all that pertains to courting if you do." 

How could Jack think to do this to him? It was perfectly clear that by 'someone a little closer', he was meaning Lieutenant Anderson. It was true, that Dr Lecter's residence was on the far side of town, near the outskirts where it abutted onto Waltham forest, but an extra hour of travel was hardly anything. No, this was nothing to do with the travel time, and everything to do with Jack's own preferences. 

"I am not stopping you from visiting Dr Lecter. You may take the carriage later next week, or the week after perhaps, when the carriage can be spared for the longer trip." 

Will looked at him, the shock at the alpha's audacity turning, like a wind blowing on coals, into something hotter and brighter in his growing anger. Zeller shifted in his seat, uneasy, but Jack, as always, was oblivious to the undertones of scent and pheromones. He sat there, seemingly just as pleased as before, if not more so, at being able to do this, to force Will's hand, knowing he had no recourse against it. 

"Very well," Will said, his voice clipped, "What time can I expect the carriage to be free?" 

"Oh, I expect after lunch, around 1 o'clock." 

Will didn't bother making any pretence at finishing his breakfast, nor did he thank the alpha, merely giving a short nod instead, before rising and leaving his mostly untouched plate on the end of the buffet table before turning to leave. He had to leave now, or he would say something that he would be made to regret. 

Visiting Lieutenant Anderson would be no great hardship, to be sure, but the fact that even in this, his freedoms and choices in life were being chipped away at, it sat in his soul, smouldering with each breath he took, and he was caught between the urge to scream out his frustrations, or being suffocated by them. 

* * *

**_Anderson Residence, London - Saturday 7th November, afternoon_**

Saturday morning found Lieutenant Anderson at a bit of a loss. He was not used to having two full days without work, or other tasks to be done. One could not exactly take a day off when you were aboard a ship, after all. Even when he had been at port, there had always been tasks to do, meetings to attend, shipments or negotiations to oversee. So it was that finding himself entirely free of commitments was a little unsettling. 

Much of his free time since returning to land had been spent seeing to tasks about the house, making contact with people whom he knew in town, as well as the inevitable purchases that living in town demanded. It had seemed more than a little frivolous to him to have to have so many changes of clothing, but he would not wish to be seen as lacking when in society, and so the tailors had been but one of the places he had visited. 

But that morning found him without any particular task to do. David Becket was away doing more of his apprentice training, and Mrs Becket had teased him that he was incapable of relaxing when, after some attempt at merely enjoying the day without any task, he had found himself to be pacing for want of one. 

He'd had some hope, perhaps, that he might have received word from Mr Graham, but he knew the man to be busy with courting, and as much as he disliked the notion, Mr Graham was much sought after, and would not be able to visit again until he had seen them all at least once. He considered writing again, but had decided against it, not wishing to appear too pushy for attention, no matter how much he longed for some more concrete evidence that he was indeed still in the omega's thoughts. 

So, as much as a distraction as anything, he took himself up to the attic to bring down some of the boxes of his old purchases from abroad to sort through. By mid afternoon, and on his third trip up, Mrs Becket called up to him. 

"Mr Anderson, thats Mr Graham come to visit. I've put him in the front sitting room." 

He froze for a moment, shock stilling his movements. Mr Graham, here? Now? Elation warred with the knowledge of his unfit state right now, knowing only so much could be done in such a short time to remedy it. 

It was a frenzy of movement that had him down the ladders and into his bedchamber to change out of the dusty shirt, dampening his hair and combing through it quickly in the mirror and pulling on a waistcoat. 

He knew he was still less than adequately dressed for polite company of this standard, but he didn't want to leave the man waiting any longer, and so he hurried downstairs, trying to ease some of the rapidness of his heartrate at having been so surprised by the circumstances. 

"Mr Graham, I did not expect to see you today, else I would be in better form to receive you." 

He was as lovely as ever, with those dark eyelashes and pale skin. It twisted something in his chest pleasingly to see him there, in his sitting room, surrounded by the comforts of his home. 

He could see those eyes flickering over his attire, and was more than aware that he probably still smelled of sweat and dust. Not exactly an appealing combination. To their credit, neither of the two alphas that came with Mr Graham showed any particular sign of amusement or outrage at his state. 

"The fault is mine, for I should have sent word earlier to see if you were free for a visit, but time was not my friend today. Am I interrupting you? I could call back another day if you are busy." 

"Not at all," he said quickly, not wanting to lose this opportunity to see the man he coveted. "Having had nothing planned, I took myself to the attic to take stock of what I had there. I find, perhaps, that the house is a little sparse, and it would be pleasant to have some more of my old purchases used, if they would fit. They can be set aside to do other things though, or you could see what amusement could be found by looking through them if you wish?" 

Mr Graham seemed pleased by the notion, something about him relaxing ever so slightly at this offer. Surely he had not thought to be turned away? 

"I would like that, I think, Lieutenant. Thank you." 

So it was that they left the two alphas, Mr Price and another to whom he was not as familiar, in the sitting room, where Mrs Becket would ply them with some food and chat, while he and Mr Graham made their way through the house to the dining room. He had spread a blanket over the large table to save the surface from the crates and boxes now placed there, and while the room had no windows to help move the scent of dust from the air, he left the door open to help circulate any breeze from elsewhere in the house. The scent of the dust didn't bother him much, but he did not want to run the risk that Mr Graham would be uncomfortable with it. 

"These are all from your travels?" 

He looked up from his task of lighting a few more lamps around the room to give them better light to see by, to find Mr Graham looking over the few items he had already taken out and set down at the other end of the table. 

"Yes, though some are more far-flung than others" he said moving over to pick up one of the tea cups from the set. It was delicate and appeared a little small in his larger hands. "These were actually from a trader here in London a few years back. They are Meissen porcelain, which I had found amusing at the time, for I had just returned from northern Germany. I thought the detail of the painting on them was lovely, and nicer than some of the stock I had seen on a previous visit. I often find myself in markets and shops when we called into ports. I suppose the part of me that came from a merchant's family runs deeper in my blood than I thought." 

He chuckled a little, setting the cup back down once more. He liked them, truly, but had never really had much cause to bring them out. It wasn't like he had been in the country long enough to have many visitors, and most of those were the sort to drink from the crystal glasses in the liquor cabinet rather than anything else. That was hopefully going to change soon, and the thought of having a mate here, using the things he had bought while entertaining friends, it warmed him. 

"I dare say I am not the best judge of what goes together," he continued, "but I had hope they could be used. As you will no doubt find, the things I have gathered over the years are more eclectic than themed, but perhaps some of them could find a place. I tend towards purchasing things I like at the time, rather than thinking of how they would fit in the house, a habit picked up from my mother, I think, though my father was just as bad in his own way, always bringing home new things to sit on the mantle." 

Although Mr Graham looked interested, he seemed ill inclined towards talking much today. Thankfully there didn't appear to be some great burden upon him with regards to his own company, so he merely left him to his thoughts while they unpacked the various items, commenting here and there on them as they were unveiled, to give some context or at least, in the cases of some less delicate pieces, a little justification for them. 

It was, in its own way, both pleasing as well as slightly nerve-wracking for him, for truly he had no idea what he would think of the various items he had decided on impulse to buy, though as time went on, and Mr Graham's mood seemed to settle more, he let himself relax as well. 

He should, perhaps, have not become so complacent, for when was just unwrapping a small walnut box he had picked up in France, a small sound of surprise from Mr Graham brought his attention over to see what had roused his interest. When his eyes settled on the partially unveiled set of perfume bottles, he didn't bother to stifle the slightly put-upon sigh of frustration at seeing them. 

"A gift from my mother," he said, setting the box aside and moving over to pick up one of the bottles. They were, to be fair, beautiful. Delicate hand-blown glass surrounded by intricate nymphs and flowers in silver. While beautiful, they were not something he would ever keep himself given a choice, nor would they suit as a gift to a male omega, which was why he had opted for something different to give as a gift at the Bloom's ball. "She has taken to sending me gifts like this each year as a reminder that she wishes grandchildren. The last few I was able to give away to friends of mine, but unlike the silk shawl or even the earrings in previous years, it isn't exactly something I can give away easily. My mother is not, what you might call, subtle." 

He gave an apologetic smile, and set the perfume bottle aside with the others, though at seeing the pensive look on Mr Graham's face, lingered there, feeling the unspoken words in the air. 

"So you do not wish for children then?" 

The question from Mr Graham wasn't really a surprise considering the explanation of the gift, though he thought a couple of swear words in his mother's direction for having tipped it that way so soon. Leaning back against the table, he looked to the other man. He didn't want to have such weighty questions between them so early. But the question deserved an answer, and so he would give it. 

"Had there been a situation where there were children, or would be, I would have been content, but it has never been something that particularly drove me. I am far more given to finding a mate for myself, than the more typical family. I would not ever feel myself hard done to, in finding myself mated but without children. My mother shall just have to remain disappointed. She has my other siblings to pester on that count, at any rate." 

There, he hoped he had been truthful enough to set the other man's mind at rest. He couldn't entirely deny the wish for children, but being here now, sharing his home with Mr Graham, it would be a lack he would not feel greatly. 

"Truly," he said, when no comment was forthcoming, "being here with you is more than enough." 

Reaching out, slowly enough that the other man could deny him the action, he took his hand gently and brought the knuckles up to his lips, before letting it down again, his thumb rubbing over them a little before releasing it. 

"Come, let us pack away my mother's well intentioned, but unwelcome gift, and see what else I have forgotten in these crates. I am sure there was a particularly nice lantern in here somewhere that I thought might be suitable for the bathroom." 

He let the task of replacing the items back in the crate distract them both, though there was a pensiveness about Mr Graham that he didn't like. If he had just remembered about the perfume bottles before, he could have set them aside, unopened, and this would never have happened. 

In an effort to break the mood, he made himself launch into a story about the lantern that he quickly dug out from another box. He wasn't a natural storyteller by any means, but being aboard a ship, you learned to make your own entertainment with what you had. It helped him now as he described the outing that had led them through the moroccan streets accompanied by two companions from his ship, Laura Marswell and David Montbreck in search of some amazing restaurant they had never actually found. It had left them in the center of a market street and perfectly happy to be so. 

"She ended up buying a new hat as well as a curved dagger in a fancy sheathe and was very well pleased either way. We found a couple of stalls selling sweet breads later on and went back to the ship with our various purchases, triumphant. I hung the lantern for a while in the cabin we all shared, but while it was nice, it wasn't exactly practical for a ship, not when the weather got roudy." 

He carefully set a candle within it, and held up the lantern for the other man to see. The coloured glass, with its intricate metal surround, shed its light around the place, creating shadows and warmth that he liked. 

"Perhaps not in this room," he said, looking around at the play of light in the dining room, "but somewhere without as much decoration perhaps. I thought the bathroom, to add a little warmth and interest. It isn't exactly a particularly ornate room, after all." 

He held it up by the chain for a few moments longer, letting it spin slowly there, before carefully extracting the candle once more and setting it aside. 

"I lost touch with her, actually. I think she ended up taking a post based in Hull, but she could have moved by now. She was ambitious and level-headed enough that she might have her own ship by now. I should probably write and find out how she is doing." 

They lapsed back into silence, punctuated by Mrs Becket coming in with some tea and light snacks before retreating once more. 

"What about this one?" 

He looked over to where Mr Graham had unwrapped a tin mug. It was such a common item, especially in warfare when everyone had them as standard, but this one hadn't been his. 

Moving over, he picked up the mug and let his fingers trace around the rim and over the slightly dented shape. It had been painted once, on the outside, but little of it remained now, just flecks of it here and there, usually in the dents where multiple handling hadn't worn it away. His fingers found those bits now, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth over them, remembering the cheerful smile and how he had always used the mug for his dice, ones that still sat at the bottom of it now. He had called it his lucky mug. 

"Oh, this is a standard issue military cup. More of a sentimental piece, I suppose. It was owned by Midshipman Bannery, whom I shared a ship with for a number of years. I had forgotten I stored it in these boxes." 

He could still remember those light grey eyes and the ready smile. War was filled with serious men, and Bannery was always a welcome presence of levity when things became too much. He was always with the jokes, the gambling and the personal bets that often took them through towns on some farcical trip or another. He could still remember the man's laugh, one that started like a bark but often ended up filling the room, with him doubled over with it, especially when it infected others into doing the same. 

The loss of the man had hit hard. Bannery, for all his foolishness, was well-liked, but had also helped keep them all together. By the time they had been out there in the forest, with Bannery earnest and serious telling him to drink a pint for him if he came back or not, most of their original group was long gone, most having taken voluntary retirement or transferred into a role not unlike his own was now. 

It had just been them there that day, stuck trying to organize the raw recruits they had been given into some semblance of a force when the situation had arisen. They both knew that if one of them didn't go, those trapped civilians were as good as dead. Bannery had gone, for they both understood that the recruits wouldn't have followed his orders as well. Too jovial, too much like a friend rather than a commanding officer. 

A shot through the abdomen had killed him, but not before he had managed to get the civilians into range of their defences. It had been relatively quick, that death, bled out from a ruptured artery, which was a blessing all things considered. He had seen men left dying for days, screaming in agony for most of it, and in that it had been some justice to the world, for no man deserved to die like that, but least of all Bannery. 

"Perhaps not a piece to be put on display in the house." 

The voice of Mr Graham brought him back to the present. Aware that he had just been standing there staring at the mug without saying anything for longer than was polite, his scent likely sour. He forced himself to take a step back from the past, letting a wry smile apologize for his momentary displacement into memory. 

"Yes. It would be far better positioned in my office at work. It might do some good there then." 

Mr Graham remained silent as he carefully wrapped the mug with its dice back up in the newsprint, and set it aside. Of all the people, Bannery would never have wanted people to mourn over him, not like this. A drink, a laugh and some celebration of his best or most daring endeavours was more his style, but it was difficult when the memory of such brightness was something that was still raw. 

"A reminder," he continued, knowing he should offer more to the man who had come for a peaceful evening, rather than whatever this mood was that had taken him, "for when the youngsters I now train become tiresome with their posturing, that I should continue to persevere. Midshipman Bannery was often considered a joke on the ship for his behaviour, but he was serious when it was necessary. He was a good soldier, and he died rescuing civilians just over a year ago now." 

"War isn't a great time to mourn a friend." 

Lieutenant Anderson smiled a little, knowing the downturn on his mouth said well enough the truth of the matter. 

"I couldn't get to him while he died. Too busy getting the civilians to safety and dealing with the enemy that had us locked down. When I managed to get there, he was long gone. He had been watching us though, so he knew the people were safe. He had that at least." 

The silence and Bannery's vacant stare had been difficult to deal with at the time. He still dreamed about it sometimes. There was no way he could have done anything, not for a wound like that, but he had wished he had been able to be there in the end. Perhaps it was better though, for he knew the man would have put on a brave face, a smile and a laugh no matter that he was in agony and dying, he would have forced himself to do so, to ease the burdens of others. 

He hoped that Bannery had known how greatly he valued his friendship, that he would miss him. For all his joviality and abundant friendliness, Anderson had often thought him lonely. 

A hand on his arm brought him back to the present once more, and he looked to Mr Graham. 

"I apologize, Mr Graham. I find myself a poor host, getting so caught up in the past. I am not usually so morose, I assure you. Someday I shall tell you of his various exploits, which are well worthy of a tale or two." 

"I should like to hear them, someday." 

He nodded, and set aside the wrapped memory, turning instead to the others, picking out a larger piece from a crate that he knew held nothing painful for him. It had been unfortunate that he had noted the mug at all while Mr Graham was here. What would the man think, with him turning so quickly towards melancholy? He forced himself to focus on the present, on the company and the hope for the future. The large bowl he unwrapped and set on the table was an interesting piece he could distract himself with, long enough he hoped that the memory of Bannery could be set aside until he was once more alone. 

He had only thought to share some of the curiosities he had brought back from another land, not a wounded piece of his soul. 

In truth, they had worked their way through most of the crates already, and there was little left except a few more pieces tucked away in the corners. At the sight of one he was unwrapping, it was with equal parts embarrassment and relief at an item that would bring amusement rather than melancholy, that he set the newsprint aside and chuckled looking at it. 

"Of course not all of my purchases were necessarily in good taste," he said by way of explanation, not wishing to appear as though he thought the vase was worthy of a place on the mantle. 

"Why on earth did you buy it?" 

He was gratified to hear the laughter in the voice of the other man as he came over to take a closer look at one of the most hideous vases he had ever come across in all his travels. He couldn't fault the man for that, it was, after all, one of the reasons he had brought it out. No need for the mood to remain dour after earlier findings. It was a rendition of a stylised face done in browns and hints of green far more reminiscent of the leavings of a sick dog than anything that should be shown in public. 

"It made me laugh for how bad it was. Supposedly it was meant to be lucky," Anderson said, "Lucky for the seller I suppose, seeing as how I bought it from him." 

Perhaps, he thought, he should send it to his mother. 

\----- 

Later that evening, Will was pacing his room while Price sat nearby playing cards on one of the side-tables. Will had been restless ever since returning from Lieutenant Anderson's home, and while he had sat through dinner in relative peace, his visible agitation had only resurfaced afterwards when they were alone. 

"You going to tell me what's the matter?" Price asked, glancing over to Will as he turned over another card, leaning back in his chair to better look at the omega. 

At the question, the pacing had ceased, but Will had not answered, instead choosing to look out the window into the growing darkness beyond the house. 

"I thought you liked Anderson," Price tried again, assuming that this was the source of the current troubles, or at least part of it. 

Will sighed and his shoulders slumped a little. 

"I do like him. It would be easier if I didn't." 

He ran a hand through his hair, the easy waves now looking far more unruly. It wouldn't matter any, since he had no need to be further sociable tonight. Price merely made a small inquisitive sound that invited a better answer, turning over another card. 

"I like him, Price. He's a good man. An honest one. An earnest one." 

"So what's the problem? You like him. He likes you. Doesn't have to be more complicated than that." 

Will sighed again and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, looking over to his friend. 

"I don't even know that he was aware of what he was doing, Price. I don't think he has been around many omegas. I don't think he was prepared for how much more open it was letting him be with me there. He's got wounds from his service, not physical ones, that I know of. I had forgotten just how many people he would have seen die. It's so easy to think of the uniform just as a job, not as the warfare he has faced." 

Price was silent, letting Will's thoughts run through the problem that he still wasn't grasping, though was starting to get an inkling of. Eventually, when no more words came, he hazarded a guess. 

"You don't want to leave him with more wounds." 

The sour scent of Will's depression and anguish told the truthfulness of that thought even before he nodded. 

"He's already started nesting." 

Price snorted a little, "Nesting?" 

"Yes. Everyone always thinks it's just an omega thing, but alphas do it to, just differently. They don't make a nest in the bedchamber, but they start trying to make the house perfect to accommodate their mate. They make new furniture purchases, move things around, see to better locks and security, consider renovation projects to make the house more suitable. It's its own sort of nesting. Usually it doesn't happen until later in courtship, but he's started already." 

"I guess he is really invested in being there for you. It isn't a bad thing, Will." 

Will made a frustrated and anxious sound, and was once more up and pacing. 

"But it is! Don't you see? With another omega, it would be wonderful. But this won't lead anywhere for him except another wound on his soul. I don't want to be the cause of any more of those, Price. I don't." 

Price sighed softly and put down his cards and regarded Will. He wanted desperately to go to the omega and physically comfort him, but knew that was out of the question. Only his words would be able to do that, and only then if he found the right ones. 

"Will, it's his own choice, no matter what the outcome. He knows well enough that you have remained unmated for a long time. You shouldn't consider rejecting someone because they DO like you. He is allowed to make his own decisions on the matter. Don't treat him like a child who can't be trusted to see to their own welfare. No alpha would thank you for that." 

The agitation sort of drained out of Will as he stood there, looking back over to Price, seeming smaller and more fragile. His anguish was still thick in the air, but this was not unusual, though it often took all of Price's self-control not to react to it. 

"I don't want to hurt him, Price." 

"I know you don't, kiddo, but that isn't your decision to make. It's his choice to court you, and fate's choice for the mating. Let things fall where they will. Now come on, I'm tired of playing cards on my own. Get over here and shuffle." 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Monday the 9th of November, morning_**

Moving quietly along the corridor, Will knocked lightly on the study door before slipping inside when Humphrey called out from within. It was still early, but Will had been awake for hours after another nightmare, and had taken some light breakfast just after dawn, thus avoiding the breakfast table today. 

At seeing him, Humphrey set down the morning paper and gave him his full attention, letting him speak in his own time, but the expectation was that he would speak, now that he had come to him. 

"I was hoping to visit with Mr Brightly today," he said, unable to stop the slight flinch from the sound of Jack's raised voice from elsewhere in the house. "Do you think the carriage will be available?" 

Although the destination of the visit was true enough, he didn't think Humphrey was under any illusions as to the real reason he wanted away from the house, nor why he was asking him, rather than Jack, who generally had the final say on such things. 

Humphrey paused a moment before standing. 

"Wait here, please." 

Will watched him move past and out the door, careful, always, to close it behind him, preserving the sanctity of the study. 

He sat himself down to wait, but soon found himself too restless in his anxiety to stay put, ending up pacing around the room, though never in direct line of sight from the door. 

It had only been five days since the rather disastrous dinner at Mr Frampton's house, and between that and Jack’s increasingly foul mood over the lack of progress with the murder, his nerves were poorly settled. At least he would be doing minimal damage to the study’s air, as he had already bathed and put on the scent blockers in hope of a quick exit. The last thing he needed right now was for Jack to get so frustrated with the case as to demand his presence for something related to it. He knew himself well enough to understand he wasn't up to that, or Jack's presence right now. 

Thankfully it was Humphrey, not Jack, who entered the study once more. 

"You are ready to go? That is good. Take the back stairs, and meet Peter in the kitchen. Do you need anything retrieved from your rooms?" 

Will shook his head. Usually he might have brought one of his own projects to work on, but there would be ample to do in the workshop. 

He paused at the door, looking back to the alpha who had undoubtedly stretched the truth with Jack to allow him this. He was more grateful for that than he perhaps should have been, but this was his life now. 

"Thank you." 

The alpha nodded a little in acknowledgement, and Will slipped out the door, heading towards temporary freedom. 

\---- 

Humphrey waited until after the door had clicked shut and he couldn't hear the soft footfalls any more before turning away. He closed his eyes and tried to push back the anger that threatened to overflow into the room. 

None of this was right. 

Will shouldn't have to come to him, begging for use of the carriage like a child, when in truth, had the fates been kind, he should have been the head of his own household for over a decade and a half now. But worse by far was the fact that Will, whose comfort had always been in their home, was now feeling forced from it. 

Truly, if he felt he might have any joy in the endeavour, he would have gone to Jack about it, or even Alana, whose household it truly was, or should be. He might even have challenged Jack again for the head position, if he thought he would have any chance at it. But the years were taking their toll, and Jack was a younger and more physically adept man, and he knew well what the results would be, and there would be no benefit felt from such a course of action. 

He clenched and unclenched his hands until the physical agitation eased back enough that he could see to gathering the things he would need for the day. Should Will not have found a mate by the end of this season, he could at least see about calling in some of his investments early and buying Will his own carriage. That, at least, he could do. 

With this thought in mind, trying to ease his mood by way of a plan of action, he picked up his case and made his way down the stairs, nodding to Nathan on the way past. He could feel the lingering look from the other alpha, and knew his agitation must still be showing. If he noticed it, then Will surely would. Pausing in the hallway to try and ease some of the tension from his form, he picked up his own coat, as well as Will’s before he headed to the kitchen, where Price was already waiting with Will. 

"Your coat," he said, holding it for him. It said a lot about his own struggle for control that Will let him hold it for him while he put it on, despite his aversion to proximity. Will had always been very astute, and would have known that it eased something in him to aid him in this small way. "We should go now, while the rest of the family is still at breakfast." 

To credit Will, while he looked surprised at the fact that he was coming along, he said nothing, merely moved out the back door where the smaller carriage was waiting, neither of them wishing to deal with the unnecessary antagonism that Jack's presence would surely produce in all of them. They would be taking the smaller carriage, not only because he knew Will preferred the relative anonymity of it, but also because Jack cared less about asking for particulars of his errands that day if he didn't take the larger carriage. Jack wanted to use that one, after all. 

Getting in, Will sat himself on the far side of the carriage, where he wouldn't be easily seen from the house windows. Humphrey felt another surge of protective anger at the necessity. All the years he had spent making their home feel like a haven for the family, and Jack was ruining it all. 

"You didn't need to come with me. I would have been fine with Price and Peter. I’ve never had any problems at the shop before." 

Will's voice brought his attention to the present, letting him know that his mood was once more slipping into the public domain, and he carefully let out a breath. This wasn't about him, nor his feelings over the matter. Letting such destructive thoughts taint the area would do no-one any good. 

"I had no plans for today that could not be just as adequately done in Mr Brightly’s workshop. It is of no trouble to find my morning thus changed. I apologize for my mood, as the cause is not your doing, and I shall endeavour to improve it forthwith." 

No, if Will couldn't find adequate respite in the house, at least he could be there to ensure that another refuge remained as such. Price, while a stalwart friend to Will, just didn't have enough drive or presence to provide that against a strong opposition. Humphrey knew he worried though, far more than he had in their younger years. It showed in how little Price would be found anywhere but at Will's side. He was not the only one who was concerned, but until Alana did something about it, their hands were tied. 

The rest of the journey was made without additional conversation, allowing Will to his own thoughts, and Humphrey to get a better grip on his ornery mood. 

When they got to the shop, it was a little after 9 o'clock, and while there was plenty of traffic around this time, it was mostly business and trade related, and required little of his attention. He sent Peter off for the time being, with a request to return with lunch for them all later on, and then followed Will and Price inside. 

Mr Brightly was much as he ever was; still gruff and bordering on unhelpful and rude, but they had known each other for years now, and he could easily see the man's pleasure at having Will come for the day. 

"I suppose you will be wanting me to make a space for you too then," the old beta said to him, and Humphrey inclined his head, responding to the words as they were intended, as an invitation, rather than the imposition they were phrased as. 

"I would appreciate that, Mr Brightly, thank you." 

So it would be that he was seated in the corner of the small workshop, surrounded on all sides by boxes and clock parts, and certainly no space to stretch one's legs out. The seat was not what one might call comfortable, but it was the most comfortable one available. Price took the other and went to sit out in the tiny square of yard out the back door, the workshop barely being big enough for two people, nevermind four. The other alpha didn't mind though, preferring that to being cooped up in the tiny room, though he would have done so without quibble for Will, who was even now perched on one of the stools, peering at the inner workings of a clock, the one currently seemingly being the prioritised for fixing out of the cacophony of the rest. 

Humphrey was just getting out some papers from his desk when Mr Brightly was manhandling boxes off the table in front of him before dragging out another from under it and putting it down in their stead. He had forgotten that the beta had one of these portable writing slopes, and it eased some of his own mood to have been catered to in this way. 

"I don't have no fresh ink except for the shop leger, so don't think you will be finding any." 

The gruff, almost unfriendly words made the urge to smile difficult to withhold, but somehow he managed. The man was incapable of being seen as helpful or pleasant, or of showing the dissatisfaction he held over not being able to provide, and tended to dissuade others of the notion as much as possible. 

"That was thoughtful of you, thank you. You need not concern yourself over the ink and suchlike, as I would not put you to such trouble. I brought some with me." 

There was only a grunt in response as he moved away. You would never know it from the actions really, but Humphrey could smell the pleased gratification in the air as the older man made his way back over to Will. 

The morning passed in relative peace, Humphrey alternating between writing needful correspondances and reading the morning paper, as the mood took him. The workshop was mostly quiet, though the odd question or conversational splurge between the two horologists broke up the silence, that and the gruff cursing from Mr Brightly when something didn't work correctly. 

Peter returned briefly to bring them lunch from home before departing once more to visit his sister. As the four of them sat around a hastily cleared table, Mrs Platts once again proved her skill beyond the norm, for Mr Brightly's tongue refrained from making any comment upon it. Proof indeed of it's excellence. 

The morning had yielded few interruptions, three people having come in to drop off or collect clocks, and one having entered on the hope of directions to the nearest library. It wasn't until mid-afternoon that something came up that required his more dedicated attention. 

Mr Brightly was once more in the shop front dealing with a customer. At first Humphrey had thought little of it, until the scent of Will's growing unease started to fill the small space of the workshop. Although he had noted that Will had been wearing the scent blockers that morning, those things had only a limited usefulness of a few hours before having to be reapplied, or sooner if the person was too hot or exerting themselves. 

He looked up from his paper and over to Will, trying to see what it was that had caused his nerves, and seeing nothing in the particular vicinity focused his mind on the sounds from the storefront. 

"And so I came back in to ask whether you could make it quieter. It is such a lovely clock, but so noisy!" 

The voice was vaguely familiar, but not someone he particularly recognised from closer acquaintance. However, the tightening of Will's shoulders as he valiantly pretended nothing was wrong, said clearly enough that Will certainly did. A colleague perhaps, or a former suitor? 

Either way, they were safe enough from having to deal with them back here, out of the public view. He looked back to his paper, though kept an ear on the conversation going on beyond the door, the distinctive tone of Mr Brightly filling the space. 

"I guess I could look at putting something on the inside panels to dampen the sound." 

"What? Oh, no, I don't want anything added to it! Can't you just jiggle the gears a bit or something, to make it quieter? I came here because you came highly recommended. I only like the best, you know." 

"I might be the best in these parts, dependin' on who you speak to, Mr Froideveaux, but I ain't no magic fairy. I follow the laws of the earth like everyone else. Now do you want it quieter or not?" 

"Well, I suppose so, but only if it won't show on the outside. It won't, will it? I wouldn't want anything to detract from how it looks. I never thought it would be such a large task at all! It will still be ready before midwinter? I really do need it for then. I am having people around, a great many, and I did so want it to be back in its place. I mean, the sitting room just isn't in a fit state without it!" 

"The case is wood, Mr Froideveaux, it won't show. It ain't a large task." 

"Oh, that's good then, but you are sure it won't show in some way?" 

Humphrey listened as Mr Brightly became less amiable, clearly just wanting the man gone from the shop. The amount of restraint he was using when dealing with customers said well enough how he still remained in business. That he had not just told Mr Froideveaux to get out of his shop already showed the clock was either an interesting one, or a needfully lucrative one. 

"Look, why don't I just bring it through and show you," Mr Brightly could be heard saying, before the door to the workshop was opened and the man himself entered, going to one of the many shelves to pick up a large mantle clock, before exiting again. "There, see, the panels would sit here on the inside beside the mechanism. Nothing would be visible. So, do you want me to do it?" A pause, then, "Mr Froideveaux?" 

Will shifted in his chair, enough that it drew Humphrey's gaze to him once more. Any pretence of working on the clock mechanism in front of him had been given up, and his gaze was flickering up towards the door to the shop front, his body angled so he could better see any threat from that direction. 

It made Humphrey's earlier anger resurface, to see Will feeling threatened by the presence of the alpha on the other side of the door. Something that only grew at hearing the words beyond it. 

"Mr Brightly, do you have an omega in your workshop? You really shouldn't, what with all the smell of oil and being so terribly cramped. Omegas don't like it you know. It's understandable that you wouldn't know, being a beta you can't small it like I can, but they are quite anxious being in there." 

"Shows what you know," came the gruff reply, Mr Brightly's unusually restrained manners starting to slip. 

"Really, I must insist you bring them out of there. I can't imagine how terrible it must be for them! All that ticking would surely drive anyone insane." 

"Then you had best be on your way, for I've been working with clocks for over 40 years." 

"No, I shall not! If you won't bring them out, then surely it is my duty to see to their care. I cannot stand to find a jewel of society trapped in such conditions!" 

Humphrey had heard enough. He was just setting aside his newspaper and rising when Price came in the back door, having scented Will's growing unease. They locked eyes for a moment, before Price's stance relaxed at the understanding that Humphrey would deal with whatever this was. 

He stepped out of the workroom and surveyed the scene, and it only took him a moment to understand why Will had reacted the way he did, but also that this rather rotund alpha was no match for him. 

The urge to lash out was strong, to show this inferior his place for having distressed a member of his family, even unknowingly. This was something that only grew when he fully realized who this alpha was. Years it had been since Mr Froideveaux had first tried to court Will, and who had, despite social protocols, despite rejections, had refused to take that denial and continued to hound Will. The perfusion of letters lately had only been the latest in a long line of ways the man had stalked Will for his attention, and Humphrey was at the end of his patience with the man. 

He could, he knew, find enough justification for taking physical recompense, to make him regret even thinking he could have someone as special as Will was, nevermind hounding him afterwards in his willful blindness. 

But that would be wrong. He could justify it to a court judge, and he could justify it to his peers, but he could not justify it to himself, nor could he justify it to Will who always saw far more than anyone else. 

Still, that did not mean he couldn't give the man a dressing down. 

"Mr Froideveaux, is there a problem here?" 

He set his question to the other alpha, not because he rated Mr Brightly's response any less. If anything the opposite was certainly true, but he also knew that the beta would far rather be rid of such an annoyance, and was offering him this to relieve him of the duty. Both of them knew that if Will was upset, as Mr Froideveaux had so rightly stated, that having the stability of Mr Brightly's company would be far more useful than lingering out here to deal with this misinformed fop. For all that the beta was about as grumpy as it was possible to be, it went unsaid but not unknown to them, that he was just as protective in his own way of his companion in clocks, as Humphrey was to his family. 

At the sight of him there, Mr Froideveaux seemed to be momentarily stunned to silence. All his previous pomp and assertiveness failing him at the sight, not only of an alpha that was more powerful than him, but also one whom he was likely wanting to curry the favour of. 

"Mr Layton! I did not expect to see you here," Mr Froideveaux said at last, the antagonistic tone gone in favour of one of one attempting to convey both pleasure and surprise. Humphrey supposed both were true, in their own ways, as Mr Froideveaux continued. "What brings you to this part of town? And in the workshop no less!" 

"I am here conducting business. I shall, however, refrain from wasting Mr Brightly's time by indulging in idle chatter in his shop when he has work to do." 

"Of course, of course, I would not wish to be a bother for all the world, but tell me, is it dear Mr Graham in there? I was quite worried, when I smelled the nervousness, but of course it makes far more sense now, that he would be here with you, for I had heard that he liked tinkering with such things. We share the love of such things, as you can see. I do adore the old clock. But if he is here, I should really like to speak with him. It has been an age, and I am sure he would be ever so pleased to see me. He has been so busy lately, that I have not seen him since the first ball! Of course, we write, but it isn't the same." 

Humphrey could feel the irritation mounting within himself once more. This inadequate alpha just didn't understand or refused to understand the situation, even now. He himself had read the last letter that Will had sent to him, Will having wanted his opinion on it's content, and there had been really no question as to the cessation of the relationship, such as it was. And yet here Mr Froideveaux was, continuing to ignore not only the social cues, but also the very clear denials that had been offered. How dare this ignorant crud deign to continue to think himself worthy of Will's time in this way? It was beyond belief! 

"No," Humphrey said, knowing that his voice was clipped, bordering on unfriendly, but it was perhaps better that than laying into the man in other ways. "His time is not available to you." 

This reaction seemed to make the younger alpha pause, shocked it seemed, at this unforeseen denial. Humphrey watched as the man's rather open face shifted through the different emotions, shock, denial, confusion and then settling on a roused anger. 

"You cannot stop me from seeing him!" came the indignant reply, the rousing of that former presumptuous notion of entitlement. "Family are not allowed to keep omegas away from their suitors." 

He should not have been surprised that it was this tact that the man thought to take. He could see clearly how greatly the denial had worked its way into the alpha's mind, how that stubborn blindness kept him from understanding the truth. Humphrey was in little mood after this morning to be kind to those who bothered Will. He might not be able to deal with Jack, but he could deal with this upstart. 

"That would indeed be the case, if you were his suitor. However, no matter how much you have convinced yourself otherwise, you are not. You were not chosen for a second meeting this year, and that would be proof enough of his decision on the matter. Had you the slightest ounce of sense, you would have bowed out gracefully and sought companionship elsewhere. But your continued hounding for his attention forced him to make the matter clearer by writing to you after your many letters, but even so, you continued to write. 

"As you will not listen to Mr Graham's opinion on the matter, I shall force you to do so to mine. You are not, and will not be the suitor or mate to Mr Graham, now or ever. The very fact that you choose to ignore his words only proves this. You shall not attempt to meet with him, nor write, nor contact him in any other way. Should you happen to be in the same place by coincidence, you will merely offer whatever civil greeting is appropriate and go your own way. If you send gifts or letters, they will be returned unopened. You shall not make any attempt to follow or create meetings, or in any other way try to win his favour, time or companionship. If you do, we shall meet again and it shall be more than words of warning that I shall give you. Do we understand each other, Mr Froideveaux? Have I, at least, been clear enough for you on the matter?" 

It might not have been as potentially satisfying as using his fist, but the stunned and crumbled visage on Mr Froideveaux's face had its own appeal in this particular scenario. Humphrey stood there, guardian between the unworthy alpha and the doorway that led to Mr Graham. He prided himself that although his anger and dominance might be felt in the room, his face showed nothing but detached disdain for such a man. 

He waited, and it took over 45 seconds, each marked by the ticking of the clocks, for Mr Froideveaux to finally find voice. 

"But we are in love!" 

"No, Mr Froideveaux, there is no 'we' in this case. I suggest you leave." 

Humphrey could see him struggling between the warring instincts, the clearly strong desire to see Will, either now or later, while at the same time logic as well as the ingrained instinct to bow out when faced with an alpha whose presence and power far exceeded his own were likely screaming at him to follow the order. It was an order, of course, rather than a suggestion, as they both knew. Humphrey was in no mood to be in the presence of the man any longer and had since unleashed his hold on his aura enough that it swept through the shop, making it quite inhospitable for the other alpha to remain there. 

Logic, as well as the instinct for survival seemed to win over, for Mr Froideveaux backed away, not willing, as anyone would around a dangerous predator, to turn his back on him, until he fumbled for the door handle and the sudden sounds of the street filled the room. Humphrey's gaze followed the man as he all but threw himself into the waiting carriage and it sped off. 

With a sedate pace, he made his way to the front of the shop, to the door that had been left open, and drew it closed, though did open one of the small windows in the shop-front to help air the room out. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in this; seeing to the orderliness of the shop, securing the boundaries and making things right again. His own scent, made in anger and contempt, had burned out any lingering scent of the other alpha, and he made himself stay there, letting his thoughts turn to more pleasant things, and letting that scent ease the shop air in turn. It had been something his own father had taught him, and after seventeen minutes, the storefront was instead filled with the hints of satisfied alpha, something that would not disrupt any further customers that day. 

He moved back through to the workshop, his pace remaining sedate as he closed the door behind him and moved back to his position where the newspaper and his correspondences waited. His gaze coasted over the room, ensuring that all was well, before seating himself once more. Like his own, Will's scent had eased in the room, and Price offered him a bright smile before taking his book back out to enjoy what was left of the sunshine. There were hints of Price's scent lingering like satisfaction in the air. 

For the first time that day, Humphrey truly felt his mood ease. It had been the right thing to come out here today. He had made a difference for his family, eased a situation and prevented another. It was with a slightly melancholy turn that he realized how he had missed this, the feeling of being needed by an omega. How long had it been since Alana had truly turned to him for that? 

Refusing to let his thoughts sour the air, he turned instead to an article on the overseas market changes, and let the details fill his mind, while the sounds and scents of the workshop worked their own charm upon him. It was the way of things, he reminded himself, that the older found new tasks in a family when younger and more able alphas came to the fore. 

It was the way of things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, a chapter as promised. :)
> 
> I didn't manage to get the holiday for rest and recouperation that I had hoped for, as life decided to throw a heap of things on me just after I posted the last chapter, so yeah. But this chapter is done, and I am not as behind any more, so there's that. 
> 
> I am also aware that I have sort of gone off a bit on a tangent with sidestories with the family this and next chapter, so please bear with me on that. I know there hasn't been as much of Hannibal yet as I know many of you were hoping for, but that will change, I promise. Perhaps I should change the tag to 'very slow burn' lol.


	13. Allies and Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning:  
> There is a section here that is NSFW. If you want to skip it, it is under the heading:  
> "Bloom Residence, London - Wednesday 11th November, evening"

**_London - Monday 9th November, early evening_**

Crossing the street, Lieutenant Anderson made his way past a few up-market businesses until he came to one in particular, before making his way up the steps, the brass handrails gleaming in the evening light. The door in front of him was opened by a uniformed doorman, to whom he nodded in thanks before making his way inside. 

The interior of the alpha-only club was dim but welcoming after the sharp daylight he had just left. The rich, deep hues were pleasant, and, as he took off his coat and handed it to the concierge, a glance at the large clock beside the double-breasted staircase told him he was in good time. Not a man who was tardy by nature, the Lieutenant had none-the-less made sure to be slightly earlier for this particular appointment. 

He was not a stranger to places like this that catered to alphas wishing for a place for meetings or relaxation, and had been here a number of times since returning to town. So it was that he moved upstairs without concern for his surroundings, nor those in it. He might not know those that frequented the establishment by name, but there was a certain etiquette involved in places like this that appealed to his sense of order and approval of established rules. 

Despite his being in good time, he found that he was not the only one who had decided upon being early, for there was a gentleman already seated at the table that had been reserved for them. He had not known what to expect, having never met the man before, and the sheer difference in their looks alone was substantial. 

"Dr Lecter, I presume?" he asked as he came up to the table, offering his hand in greeting. 

The man was slender and impeccably dressed by the standards of the town. Unlike Anderson himself, who had dressed in his uniform, not only because it was easier but because he was coming directly from work, Dr Lecter was in a suit of dove grey, and even to his relatively untrained eye it was clearly expensive and well tailored. 

Having risen at his approach, Dr Lecter's grip was firm, but not too firm. Much like the handshake that was offered, the Doctor's own was measured to be sturdy but not overbearing. There was much you could tell about a handshake, Anderson had found over the years, and this one gave little away about its owner other than good manners. 

"Lieutenant Anderson, I am glad you could make it. Please join me. The waiter will be up shortly. Your day has gone well, I trust?" 

The foreign accent was noticeable, but not overpowering as some could be. If anything, it added a touch of further sophistication to the man, not that he needed it. The charisma he could see just as easily, and for all that the man was a surgeon in skill, it was clear from the outset that charm was something that Dr Lecter was also liberally gifted with. 

"Quite well, thank you. The current batch of recruits have started remembering to tie their own boot-laces, so I suspect at least some of them will make it through base training in the next decade or two." 

He let his tone remain light and friendly, for all that the conversation between them was likely to turn more serious soon enough. Neither of them had come here merely for an idle banter, after all. 

Still, they kept it light while they ordered their drinks and then waited for them to be brought. 

Lieutenant Anderson was no novice when it came to making fairly fast judgements on people's character or motives. It was necessary for the job he did, especially aboard a ship when mood could swing as fast as storms could rise. He could see the calculating gaze of the chief surgeon as they talked idly, how each word, each gesture was measured and executed with just as much precision as his work must entail. He knew he would have to be careful around this man, for although outwardly friendly, his instincts were pricking him with hints of potential danger, no matter that he could not feel any significant power from the man. He had not survived as he had by ignoring his instincts. 

Finally though, both having their drinks in hand, and having taken a cursory sip to whet the mouth, casual conversation was set aside as Dr Lecter turned it towards the true reason for their meeting. 

"With it being just over five weeks until midwinter, I asked you here today in order to discuss Mr Graham." 

It didn't come as a surprise that Dr Lecter was adept at conversation. What little he knew of the man, and that was indeed little, was that he was unusually competent in fields of discussion. For now, he nodded, letting the man lead the topic, the carefully crafted words telling their own story. 

"With the two of us being the only remaining contenders for Mr Graham's affections this season," the Doctor continued, "It seemed wise to meet and see if there might be grounds for an accord between us." 

That there were only two of them left was news to him. It seemed somehow so unlikely that such a vast swathe of alphas hoping for Mr Graham's affections had been so swiftly reduced to just two, and yet he didn't disbelieve the information. No, Dr Lecter used this like the conspicuous use of currency, showing not only his superior knowledge, but also his potential benevolence in offering it. He had met people like that before, though the man opposite him wielded it with a greater sense of ease than most. 

"I had not kept track, trusting Mr Graham's judgement on the matter," he said, acknowledging both his lack of prior knowledge, likely known, and his stance on dealing with rivals for Mr Graham's affections. While it was fairly common practice to fend off other alphas during courtship, it had never been his intent to partake of that particular skill-set unless he felt there was some intrinsic detriment to the omega involved. 

It might have surprised or even shocked other people that someone like Dr Lecter, so upstanding in the community, might do such a thing, but Lieutenant Anderson had lived and worked with a great number of alphas for the majority of his life now, and he could well imagine it in most people these days. The pristine gentleman across from him was no exception in this. That the man had somehow managed to reduce the number of contenders so swiftly only showed his ruthlessness on the matter, that pleasant facade hiding less than it usually would to someone less experienced in the world. 

"I prefer being prepared whenever possible," Dr Lecter said, the tiniest hints of a smile there in the muscles over those sharp cheekbones. Not merely pleasant, but self-satisfied in his situation. 

He had met an alpha like this before, a woman in Morocco. She had been so very splendid, and much admired. Everything she did was carefully planned and executed, with nothing left to chance. Not her attire, her speech, her gestures, not the secrets of those around her, nor even the circumstances she found herself in. Anderson remembered her smiling disdain, the casual cruelties and the utter self-absorption of her actions. If it was not done her way, she found ways to turn it and wreak revenge upon those who might have disturbed her plans. 

He got the same sort of feeling from the man sitting opposite him, for although Dr Lecter's mask was by far better fitting than hers had been, being almost flawless, it was his experiences with her that not only let him guess some of the things behind that mask, but that there was even one at all. Could he really trust Mr Graham's happiness, even in courtship, to such a man if he was indeed like her? 

"You do not strike me, Dr Lecter, as a man of idle fancies," he said, his words slightly slower in his caution. He remembered well how Ms. Martin had been so driven, so fixated on her goals, no matter that it might have appeared causal to the general observer, but he had seen flashes of obsession in her eyes at times. "Unlike yourself, Mr Graham is not a man easy in society. How do you see such a relationship resolving itself?" 

The Doctor sat across from him looking pleasant and at ease, and probably was. It wasn't as if he was attempting to rile the man; if anything, experience had taught him that the opposite was the safest option in this case. The Doctor's smile was easy as he replied, his tone slightly indulgent. 

"With my support, of course. I expect the mating will ease at least some of his anxieties, and venturing into society need not be as regular an occurrence as it is now, nor as troublesome. A small gathering of close friends is considerably different to being cast, largely unprotected, into a ball to fend for himself." 

The man was persuasive, especially in this case when he too had felt discontent at Mr Graham's unease at the ball. He nodded, having seen, acutely, how even with family there it had been too much for the man. He remembered too, how it had been the head alpha of his family who had compounded that by his actions. 

"It did not sit well with me, seeing him struggling," he agreed, though he did not let himself get distracted from the heart of his concern. "And what if he should wish to stay home?" 

"Then, unless circumstances prevented it, we would stay home. I do not know what sort of impression you have of my life Lieutenant, but a great deal of my time when not working is spent in the house. I am not a social butterfly, to flit from one thing to the next, but rather choose my outings with care." 

He remembered how each word, each action by Ms. Martin had been utterly calculated for the best effect. Nothing was left to chance. 

"Yes, I expect you do." 

\----- 

Later that evening, sitting in his chair in the living room, Lieutenant Anderson thought back on that meeting. While it had not been easy to guess the man's motives, some of them at least seemed fairly certain, such as why he was looking into creating an accord. 

With how many years the man had put into his work, building up his skillset and then getting the position as head surgeon, it was little trouble to assume that he would not wish to give up such a role, especially as it would be one of his main incomes, though he had heard that the Lecters were a moneyed family somewhere in Europe. But keeping that job would mean time away from the home, and with only one alpha, that would largely be impossible, or at least impractical. 

To be certain, Dr Lecter would likely have quite a few servants already, and some of them could see to security, but not in the way an alpha could. Likewise, with Mr Graham being so sought-after as he was, it would only increase the danger of other alphas coming to try and claim his affections, if he was left unprotected. He himself had already spoken with his superiors before having taken this post, and would be giving it up if and when he became mated, or at least until their family grew to include others who could aid in that role. 

But a job like chief surgeon would not merely hold for a few years, and skills would be lost, while other alphas might step up to take that position. Dr Lecter could not, perhaps, wait for a future year to find another alpha strong enough to protect the home, and what better a situation than to engage the agreement of a military alpha whom Mr Graham had already shown a preference. 

That Dr Lecter saw himself, unquestionably, as the head alpha was a given, and not something that Anderson could really judge yet, having not felt his aura. He didn't mistake his more slender build for being weak, having seen many different types of people over the years perform feats in combat. But could he really agree, could he live with being only second in Mr Graham's life, when he might be first without the agreement? Could he agree, when it would mean a man he suspected of such selfish motivations would then rule over the house? 

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes closing. All of this worry might be for nothing anyway, for there had been no clear question between them, merely testing of boundaries and beliefs. Dr Lecter may well have merely asked him there in order to gauge how strong a rival he might be, and had no intent on any accord at all. Only time would tell, he supposed, if they were to meet again to further the discussion in future. 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Wednesday 11th November, morning_ **

_Smoothing down his suit, Humphrey moved out of the study and into the house proper. It was late morning, and by now Jack and Zeller had left for work, the children would have been dressed, fed and would be in their task of learning better to read. The rest of the family would be seeing to the day-to-day tasks that helped the running of the house. In short, it was the perfect time to seek out Alana for a chat that had perhaps been long overdue._

_He found her in the front sitting room with Hettie, refreshing the flower arrangements there. Despite having had a poor night's sleep due to one of the children having had a bad dream, she still looked radiant to him._

_"Alana, if I might have a few minutes of your time?"_

_Her smile, as always, lit a warmth in his chest, as she set aside the task in response to his request._

_"Of course, Humphrey. I don't believe anyone is using the sun room right now, we could talk there."_

_He took her hand a moment, and pressed a kiss to the knuckles in thanks, before moving to the door and holding it for her, nodding to Hettie in gratitude for her putting up with the disruption to the task, before following Alana out._

_She did not fill the corridors with chatter, likely gauging well enough his slightly more sombre mood. Still, this was not at all outside of the norm, for it was often as thus, with him coming to her when a situation with the family or household needed to be remedied, working together to find a solution. That hadn't changed, even though his status in the house had._

_The sun room was still a bit chilled this time in the morning when the sunlight hadn't quite burned off the cold of the previous evening. They had had it built sixteen years ago now, so that she and Mrs Harris could have extra space for enjoying the sunlight when otherwise the cold outside might be restrictive. The scent of the potted plants there was pleasant, despite most not being winter flowering, and the view over the frost touched lawn was calmly sublime. He hoped that the view would soothe her in the coming discussion._

_"I wanted to talk about Will, and the family at large," he said after she had turned to him in expectation of what he would have to say. "While change and adaptation to circumstances are at the heart of any family like ours as the dynamics alter, it has become clear to me that Will is increasingly finding these changes difficult to the point where he does not feel at ease in the family."_

_"You mean he is finding it difficult with Jack."_

_Her tone was of someone who had, perhaps, hoped for a different response from her conversant. That he had to be the bearer of such disappointment weighed upon him, but not enough to avoid it any longer._

_"Yes, that is what I am meaning," he admitted, having known that such a statement would not go down well, but what else could he do, other than make her more aware of the issue? "Will is uneasy around him, and as the years pass, is becoming even more so, not less."_

_She folded her arms across her chest, but seemed to be indulging this conversation, at least as far as her irritation held back. He could understand if he had been bringing the same topic up for months, but this was the first time he had, in fact, spoken of it to any significant degree. Was there something else bothering her that he hadn't picked up on? She had seemed pleased enough to converse before now._

_"Will is generally not easy around anyone," she said, "especially at this time of year when he is forced to be more active in society."_

_Her dislike of the conversation was building in the air, and yet he could see nothing of particular that would be upsetting her. Had Will himself irritated her lately with something, that she disliked the topic, or was it that she merely disliked him finding fault in Jack? Either way, he could not forgo this conversation with her any longer, not with Will's nerves only getting worse these last couple of years, when until then, they had become more stable, more predictable._

_"It is more than that," he urged, "The times when they are in the same room tend to be the most fraught, but even being in the house at all at times when Jack is present leaves him uneasy these days. This in particular concerns me, because we have always tried to make the house a haven for him." "You can hardly call it Jack's fault that he doesn't pick up on quite as many subtle cues as the rest of us. He can't help that he's mostly noseblind."_

_So it was about Jack then. That was going to make it more difficult, certainly, since he generally felt that it was in fact Jack's fault. Still, her mood had to be mitigated or she would never listen to him properly, especially not in the sort of state of mind she seemed to be building herself into._

_"I certainly do not hold such a thing against him," he said cautiously, "However I do not believe he is paying as much heed to those of us who are not similarly blinkered. You have been there yourself when he ignored the rest of our reactions in preference for trying to pressure Will into changing his actions, because it suited him to do so. It's behaviour like that, which concerns me."_

_"We all do what we believe to be best."_

_"That is true, but this isn't only about his beliefs. He is head alpha of this family, and as such he should be seeing to the care of all the family, not merely his own agenda. I am not the only one who is worried over Will these last couple of years, nor the single-mindedness of Jack's drive."_

_She shook her head, a gesture of her hand dismissing his concerns as inconsequential. "You know very well that alphas in the first few years of mating are more driven to prove themselves."_

_He was trying, really trying to keep ahold of his irritation and frustration over her attitude around this, but it was difficult. She was barely even considering what he was saying before dismissing it. Still, his rising frustration would do no good here, though it took a long breath before he could reply with the civility he wished to be always known for._

_"That I do, but it should never be at the detriment of the rest of the family. Unfortunately, it falls to you to check his behaviour. The rest of us cannot."_

_It was best, perhaps, to bring the conversation to a close sooner rather than later. He hoped at least to show that he himself was not here to attack Jack, but to ask her to ease his more demanding behaviour towards Will. That, surely, she could do. But as he looked at her, her chin tilted up and set in a way he was all too familiar with, it was only the stubbornness he found, and one that did not bode well for his hopes._

_"I fail to see any reason for checking him, as you put it. Will might well be less comfortable with the change in the family dynamics, but perhaps that's what he needs. He has been unmated for so long that perhaps he needs to feel less comfortable here in order to find a mate. Jack says..."_

_"Jack says?" he interrupted, unable to help himself from doing so, "The last I checked, this is not House of Crawford, it is House of Bloom."_

_"You might not like it, but he IS the head alpha in this family now. You should proffer things for his judgement, as I have chosen to do in this matter."_

_He chose to try and ignore the way those words were made in such a way to check his behaviour, a reminder of what he had lost when Jack came around. It was difficult, but her anger and irritation at him worked their own biological magic, the curl of anger and frustration in him cast back and made smaller by her own distress. He had never wished to see her distressed, and certainly not be the cause of it._

_"I would if I thought that judgement was sound, and good for the family," he said, his tone more conciliatory than he thought he might manage, but he had never liked her anger, and it burned him far more than perhaps she was aware. He couldn't temper his words too much though, for all that he wished to save her from them, for this wasn't about her, at least not only her. He was here for Will, and that need had not altered merely because of her tone._

_"Really Humphrey?" she said, her eyes flashing, "You wish me to believe that you would capitulate to Jack’s judgement if it was ‘for the good of the family’? Yet here you are, tiptoeing your way around a concern over Will without actually bringing it to Jack, who is the one meant to be dealing with it. Are you sure you are not just jealous of the man you lost your position to?"_

_The hurt of those words, barbed to cause as much pain as possible, took his words from him. Of all the reactions he had thought he might get from her, it was not this. She had never before used her quick wit to bleed the family, and that blood must have shown in his face and scent, for the fervour in her eyes softened a bit, became slightly uncertain as he finally found words for her._

_"When have you ever known me to put myself before the needs of the family, Alana?"_

_He could see her struggle to mitigate the damage she had wrought, to find some way to undo some of those words that sat lodged in his chest while she held the other end of the rope on which it was tied._

_"Oh stop being so over-dramatic, Humphrey. Will shall be fine. You just need to stop shifting the discontent of your position onto other things."_

_It couldn't be her fault, oh no, not sweet Alana whom everyone loved. It couldn't be her that caused the caustic wound in his chest, filled with the venom of her anger. He had to be overreacting, of course. That she would not even properly own the wound made it hurt all the more, and it was a struggle to keep his tone even and civil, but somehow he managed. Her words had been made to hurt, but he was not here for himself. He would bleed if it meant his family was happier and feeling safer in the home._

_"Will is unhappy and uncomfortable here, Alana," he said at last, "and his freedoms are being curtailed by Mr Crawford, including being stopped from visiting Dr Lecter, your own favourite for his heat. Perhaps you should ask others in the family about it, then look again at just how biased you believe I am in this case."_

_He gave her a short bow of farewell, and did not reach for her hand, nor offer any placations of his own. She had done away with those and could cool in the wake of his exit._

_His back straight, the wounded man made his way back through the house with the poise of a gentleman, returning to the study and the work needing done there. He had done what he could for now, little as that had turned out to be._

* * *

__

**_Bloom Residence, London - Wednesday 11th November, evening_**

In his room that evening, Humphrey's thoughts were disrupted by a knock on the door. Looking over to it after he bid whomever it was to enter, he saw, to his inner disappointment, not Alana come to make amends, but Nathan. 

A quick scan of the other alpha's demeanor and casual mode of dress told him well enough that he wasn't here to bring him some problem to solve, nor was it entirely social, for although they had taken sometimes to sharing an evening of cards or other past-time together, Nathan's expression was too serious. No, there was a determination to the other alpha's frame, and a slightly stubborn edge to his smile on greeting, that said such an evening of ambivalence was not to be had. 

He turned away, not quite ready to face such an evening just yet, nor the reason for the necessity of it. 

When the silence had lingered between them, each standing in the space of the room, apart, finally Nathan breached the air with a question when no other conversation was given. 

"So, I hear that Millie finally got the go-ahead to invite her friend to the house for a trial run for a position here." 

Humphrey nodded, though didn't turn towards the other alpha as he replied, "Yes. So long as Miss Parker is competent and fits well with the rest of the family, there should be no real issue. She will likely have to take further training with one of the guilds though, as she is not as used to working in as large a household as this. If she fits in by late spring, I shall send the letters to inquire." 

A pause then, when he might have offered more, perhaps an enquiry as to Nathan's day, or things that he might wish to talk about, but he knew without turning that such an easy topic would not be the remit of this evening. He did not turn, and he did not ask, and as the seconds ticked by, so Nathan spoke once more, his voice mild but stubborn, as he had known he would be. 

"And the rest of the household, do you think they will be pleased of having another beta around?" 

"Yes." 

Unspoken words and silence lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of their years of friendship, ones that kept each of them standing in the room together, that kept Nathan there despite the resistance from the more dominant alpha. 

"Humphrey," he said at last, his voice quieter, barely louder than a murmur, but heard by him just as clearly as had he shouted, "Do you need me tonight?" 

The words were cautious, and Humphrey was aware of the distance that separated them, Nathan never having moved away from the door despite there being ample places to sit. He found his fingers gripping the back of the chair he had ended up standing in front of, his gaze staring down at the dressing table, weighing that question against his pride. 

Only when he nodded, a sharp, precise movement, did Nathan move. 

The click of the lock on the door was as final as he had known his decision to be. He would not go back on his agreement now, nor turn on the younger alpha to try and salvage what pride he had. And so when those hands slipped over his shoulders to ease off his suit jacket, he didn't stop the action or strike out, merely let out a breath that shook ever so slightly with his restraint. 

"Come, get out of this staid clothing," Nathan said, his hand running down the other alpha's back, before adding "I have missed this." 

Humphrey didn't make the mistake of thinking it was only about them sharing the intimacy of the bed together that the other man was talking about, and it was perhaps that alone that had him moving to slowly take off the clothing of that day, rather than making a sharp remark to distance himself from it. 

He had no real words for the other alpha, not yet, and Nathan seemed to understand that. It had indeed been a while for them, and that alone would make the evening more lengthy for want of the preparation. 

Moving over to the wardrobe, he opened it and then a drawer at the bottom and took out a bottle of oil there, one that remained half-filled since the last time it had seen use. Straightening up, he took a moment to look in the mirror on the back of the door there. Silvered hair now, older than he once had been, but still virile in the ways that mattered here tonight. Moving to close it, he paused as it caught the sight of Nathan leaning back in the armchair near the bed, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt to reveal the dusting of hair on his chest, and the skin beneath. Those eyes, when they looked up and over to him had some of their roguish charm back in them, now that they had come to an agreement for the evening. Those eyes looked at him, and they burned with carnal thoughts, as Nathan's other hand reached down to shift the swelling erection in his trousers. 

Closing the wardrobe, Humphrey turned to look at him properly there, sprawled over his furniture and already looking somewhat debauched. It made a smile touch the edges of his lips. It was a compliment, that look in the younger alpha's eyes. 

Not that the age difference was that significant these days when they were both older than they once were. Humphrey could appreciate that in the other man, how the years had seasoned him and tempered some of the frivolousness of youth. 

Forcing himself to move, he set the bottle of oil down beside the bed, and started to get properly undressed, aware of Nathan's gaze upon him, but for the moment ignoring it as much as possible. 

It was unusual, he was aware, for two alphas to do what they were going to do. He had always thought that, and could not imagine such happening in any way between any of the others in the house, not without Alana there. Perhaps it was the fact that he and Nathan had formed an accord back at the beginning. It was its own particular manner of bond in order to win her, that allowed it to then slowly grow into something more between them over time, and necessity. 

He didn't want to think about the reasons for that necessity just yet. Let it be, for now, about mutual pleasure. 

Putting his shirt over the back of a chair, aware of Nathan moving around the room, he glanced towards the bathing chamber. He should get some towels for the bed, but, as he looked over, found that there were some already sitting there, spread over the sheet, waiting. 

Nathan smirked at him, resplendent in his nakedness and surety. A reminder that he wasn't the thoughtless youth of their past. 

Taking off his trousers and undergarments before sitting down on the side of the bed, his gaze lingered on the raised bump of the pillow that had been placed under the towels. Thoughtful, but also slightly intimidating for what it signified. 

"It's been a while," he said, not looking over at Nathan, though he could hear him coming over. A hand settled on his shoulder, the shadow his body cast from the lamp's candle making the closeness feel more intimate. 

"We have all night," ca!me the quiet, murmured reply. 

He nodded, lingering there a moment longer, before getting up. His hip brushed against Nathan's as he turned and, with breath that felt heavy with the import of what was to come, he got up onto the bed, and lay down in the place that Nathan had made for him. 

One by one, each of the lamps in the room were blown out, except for a couple beside the bed, each marking the inevitability of the time between them, before finally the mattress dipped and the warmth of the other man was there beside him, the weight of his hand moving with a firm, even stroke down over his back. 

"I've missed this," Nathan said again, his voice a murmur between them, warm and earnest, as that hand settles in the small of his back. "I like that no one else gets to see you like this. Not even Alana." 

It was a truth, he knew that, but it was also a query, checking if Humphrey wished to speak of it before they start. That Alana was the cause did not take much detective work on Nathan's part. No other person had ever left him in such a mood. 

No words came, not yet, and he reached out to wind his fingers with Nathan's free hand, an acknowledgement of the words, and an answer. 

Usually Nathan was a talker. Ever since they had first met, and he had seen that bright youth that made Alana laugh with gaiety at his humour, the man had always used his quick wit and exuberant words to fill the air. Tonight however seemed to be a quieter and more pensive Nathan, letting his hands ease the taut muscles in his body where words were unlikely to. 

The first breach of a finger was always the most startling, and only the firm press of a hand on his lower back and his own self-discipline kept him in place. It always felt odd and intrusive there, not being made for it as omegas and females were. Nathan ignored the movement except for that hand, and the stillness of the other whose digit is entrenched. He is glad for that. He always struggled the most at the start, not only of the body, but relenting to it. 

He wondered what it says about him that he does. 

It was slow from there. The gradual easing of muscles with patience and enough oil that it ran down over his balls with each slick motion of Nathan's hand. It was more a trial of patience than anything pleasurable at first, though the other man kept it from being painful, but as time goes on there was a warm pleasure that started to smoulder in him, his breathing coming easier as careful fingers brushed over that place inside that makes his cock start to swell with more enthusiasm. 

"That's it," Nathan murmured, shifting a little so he could feel the other man's erection against his thigh. It's hot, as all alphas are, the slickness of the tip showing just how much restraint Nathan is using right now to ensure their pleasures. 

They both knew that eventually it wouldn't be his fingers that were stretching him, and he was becoming cautiously more enthused about that notion as the small shocks of pleasure those fingers were bringing him. He let his eyes close, his breath deepening with the other man's attentiveness and care. 

It took time though, because this wasn't about opening him up just for his member, though that would be significant enough. He had to take the knot as well, and that was the danger of their situation. So much damage could be done, but Nathan was cautious and patient, relentless in his pursuit of his goal, even if it took all night. It was one of the reasons that allowed Humphrey to relax with him like this. For all the jovial front the man put on for the family and others, here and now with him, he could trust that Nathan would never allow his actions to hurt him. 

Eventually though, the warm weight of the other man was easing over his back. Still cautious, because for all that they had spent this time preparing, if his instincts are triggered into becoming defensive or aggressive in response to the other alpha, it would all be for nothing. Nathan knew him though. Over two decades of time together had built its own language and trust, and he once more let his fingers entwine with Nathan's, those digits still cool from the washbowl, a slight squeeze of reassurance there that he could continue, though the fact that it should be with caution goes without saying. 

Other alphas doing this, perhaps they would enjoy the push and pull of dominance challenges between them before one took the other, but that had never been part of their accord. Nathan, even now as age has tempered them, had always been careful never to offer any challenge to his instincts in this way. It is perhaps this alone that allowed him to relax when the touch of slick heat pressed against this hole and started slowly, achingly slowly, pressing inwards. 

He controlled his breathing as that measured press in and out gradually eases the way until Nathan is sitting fully entrenched inside him, and only then did the other man lean down to mold himself against his back, nuzzling in against his shoulder. It was overwhelming, feeling his body both speared and shielded like this, and it was a fight to remain relaxed, but Nathan gave him time. He always had. 

Usually it would be Humphrey that would protect Alana's body from any threat that came for them in the night, but with the pain of her words lingering, he needed the reminder that he was not in this alone, that another would help stand between him and the troubles that life throws. 

Slowly Nathan started to move, the sensation chasing away the phantom conversation that had clung to him all throughout the day. 

He knew that Nathan wanted to touch him, it showed in the way the other man used his torso to rub along his back with his thrusts, the way his arms crowd his own, but he cannot allow him that, not yet, for even now his instincts are pressing at him to remove the other alpha from being so close, so possessive. This wasn't the time for that, and Nathan never pressured him for more than he was willing or able to give. 

With one hand, the other still entwined with Nathan's fingers, he shifted a bit, raising his hips just enough to slip the short leather sheath over his now hard member, twisting the cord around the base enough to keep it in place while it still sat loose, before his knot would eventually fill it. All alphas had them made, though this particular one had seen more use than not in the last few years while Alana had otherwise been busy at nights with Jack. 

The feel of stubble rubbing over his shoulder brought him out of such thoughts, becoming aware that he was slipping once more into melancholy, instead of letting himself have something else instead. 

He let out a breath, chasing away the thoughts by way of moving his hand to stroke in time to Nathan's body It was difficult, with the press of the pillow beneath hampering the movements, but it worked enough as a distraction that his breath started to come faster, and a soft rumble of pleasure from above him showed well enough that Nathan was pleased by the change in his scent. 

In these moments, he knew that Nathan thought of him as his, though he would never say it. Such declarations were never vocalised between them, but heeded nonetheless. It wasn't about dominance, not truly, which was why he was able to make his instincts comply. Nathan had always been his ally in the house, had always been there, in the ways in which he was able, to aid when required or requested, just as he was here now, filling up the hollow hurt with his own brand of reassurance. 

"Humphrey." 

A plea there, a soft spoken need that called to his own instincts to provide for those under his care, though this was certainly different to most. His body didn't seem to mind, and a soft rumble emitted from his own chest, a reassurance that he wanted him here, that he wanted to see him pleasured and satisfied, even if this was not exactly the normal way of things. 

It lit something in him, to hear his name called like that, his instincts flaring towards carnal, his cock stiffening further in response, a pleasured shiver chasing down his back as Nathan buried himself deep time and again, rubbing inside just right, making his breath come faster and his cock to start drooling in his hand. 

He tried to arch a little more for a better angle, but found himself hampered by his positioning enough that he released himself and Nathan's free hand to shift the pillow under himself, Nathan never stopping despite the movement, likely unable to at this stage, his breath coming fast, small whines of need there. 

Humphrey growled, finding his position, his hips raised more, demanding even that he be filled better while each thrust rubbing him deliciously against the raised pillow beneath. Nathan's breath was fast, his cheek and jaw rubbing back and forth as much as he could against his shoulder, seemingly unable to stop the claiming there, though he wasn't so foolish as to try for his throat. Humphrey liked that, liked the restraint as much as the desperate need in the younger alpha. 

It was difficult to think now, the rough slap of their bodies and the overwhelming scent of their musk filling up everything until there was only the pleasure, the raw need to complete that filled each moment. Sensation heightening, thrusting down into the soft toweling, then back up to chase the pleasure deep inside. 

He was close now, each of Nathan's breaths coming in tandem with soft whines of need, his own coming in the form of low rumbles growls that rose and fell. No matter that it was his body doing the sheathing, he needed to see to Nathan's pleasure, a need that had been brought to him. 

"Nathan," he rumbled, barely even coherent as words over the growl, "Now, come now." 

He could feel the effect the words had on his partner, how his body body stiffened, how his mouth opened with need to bite down on something but managing, just, to not bite down on his shoulder, and how inside, that knot started to swell swiftly until Humphrey was panting with the sheer overwhelm. 

"Humphrey," the gasped words, "Humphrey, please!" 

So close, so close to the edge between pleasure and too much sensation as the slick thickness filled him further and further, but the plea from Nathan gave his mind, his instincts, a direction, and he snarled in against the bedsheets, his body arching, one hand reaching over behind him to grip Nathan's shoulder, his own knot swelling in the sheathe. A snarl then, ragged and brutal as seed shot with force into the towling beneath him. 

They lay there panting, a thin sheen of sweat coating their bodies. Nathan was heavy atop him, but he didn't mind. The satisfied desire and the fullness locked inside him had stripped it away, and all he could feel was the pleasurable ache of being so greatly filled, along with a sense of peace that transcends his usually so well managed temperament. 

It's both a trick of biology as well as of the mind, he knew that. He had let Nathan physically dominate him, and his body was reacting to that now that the knot was ensuring his compliance. There was no fight or struggle in him now, his body yielding, trusting the other alpha to protect and care for him, as he was sure far off ancestors once managed some dominance challenges. 

Nathan nuzzled in against his shoulder again, leaving more of his scent there, as if that were possible after the amount he did it earlier. 

"Are you… no, wait, hang on." 

Nathan's words were filled with laughter in the last few, riding the euphoria of their connection, his arm tightening around Humphrey's waist a moment, before he felt that pulsing once more filling him yet fuller with Nathan's claim. Humphrey pants a little at the pressure, Nathan's soft, joyous laugh of delight at their closeness, it's own gift. It was a few moments more before his own body gives up its second surge, causing Nathan to groan in pleasure. 

"I forget," Nathan said as he settled back down across Humphrey's back, "just how intense it is with you". 

Humphrey made a low sound of agreement, less about a reticence to speak, and more just lazy contentedness that lingered while they are joined. A careful hand stroked strands of his hair out of his face, and in his current state he didn't even consider anything other than enjoying the touch of care he would usually have balked at. 

"Are you ready to tell me what was wrong?" Nathan asked eventually. 

The question was as soft as those fingertips as they stroked through his hair, and like the pressure inside, he knew he wasn't getting away from it. After all, he had made the decision to place himself in this position. The words came easier now, as they had not before, loosened from his tongue by his body's capitulation. 

"I went to her with my concerns about the impact Jack is having upon Will," he said, his gaze staring across at the wall, but not truly seeing it. It seems further away now, that hurt, with the closeness of Nathan covering him, filling him. The hand stroking through his hair settles carefully on the curve of his neck and shoulder, not quite a grip, but a reminder he is not alone in dealing with this. It was enough that he finds the words to continue. "She accused me of merely acting in self-interest." 

The surge of protective outrage from behind him was gratifying in it's own way, though he reached out to grasp Nathan's hand once more, weaving their fingers together as a way of tempering it somewhat. With the instincts flush through Nathan's body from their time together, it was better to be cautious with letting them overflow too greatly. He didn't want Nathan getting himself into trouble with others for a temporary burst of overconfidence. 

"It's ridiculous, Humphrey!" Nathan said, though allowed himself to be drawn down to the bed a bit more by that grip, "She has seen it, just as the rest of the family has. I know she is still riding high on the side of a new mate after only a couple of years, but come on! She has known you for over twenty five!" 

He sighed, not wanting to break the soft haze of contentedness with a reminder of such things, no matter that it had been them that had prompted the actions. 

"It was perhaps foolish of me to go to her directly over him," Humphrey replied, "It is difficult to remember that she has a new mate now, when I speak with her of matters as I always have. As you say, we have been together so long, I am finding the change difficult." 

This, more than the grip of his hand seemed to ease the call-to-action from the other alpha in favour of seeing to him, though the scent of protectiveness was still there. 

"You are still her mate, Humphrey," the reply came quietly as Nathan lets himself down more to lay flush against him, his free hand coming down to rest around his waist, the movement shifting him just enough to be a reminder of the other way in which they were joined. But no matter that reassurance, it didn't change the facts. 

"Not like I was, not any more," he says, his eyes closing against the weak candlelight and the knowledge he had been ignoring for too long. "It was easy to think things would settle more once time had eased in the new member of the family, but much is changed, and I am in no great place to help any more. The mating will always have her listen to Jack over the rest of us now, it is the way nature is. Something I had conveniently forgotten, having never been in this position before. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I had at least expected her to listen." 

"It is worrying for us all," came the quiet reply. It was not reassuring, that Nathan echoed his concerns, but it calmed the part of him that worried that perhaps Alana was right. Had he merely been reacting against the alpha who had usurped his position? "Humphrey," a reminder there, that his thoughts were not in solitary, "You always listened to us, no matter that you were in charge, and you encouraged her to listen as well. You always made sure to include the family. That he does not… it should not be like this." 

What could he say to that, when in truth that was what he felt to be the case. It felt petty to be complaining here, the safety of the darkened bedchamber, about a man of whom was trying his best, even if that best did not sit well with some of the family currently. 

"I should just have gotten Mr and Mrs Harris, or even Peter to speak with her, instead of going myself," he said at last. "It is perhaps as much my own fault, the rest of it, as any fault of Jacks. The family still comes to me, and perhaps I have not been making enough effort to pass on those problems to him as I should. Hierarchy only works if those in it adhere to the structure, and I may have been resisting it, mostly unknowingly." 

Nathan was quiet, though his distress is evident in the air. "I don't like him here, Humphrey. Zaller might be okay on his own, his temper and manners evened out, but Jack doesn't pay heed to things brought to him, not unless it fits his own agenda. You bear too much of the blame in this case. Too much." 

Eventually Nathan settled down when he doesn't respond, too caught up in his own thoughts in the matter. Nathan's weight was once more heavy over his back, fingers tightening in his own. There wasn't much more either of them could say, the situation being as it was, but he found the physical reminder of Nathan's support a reassurance that he had needed. 

Alana might not need him as the mate he had once been to her, but he had Nathan, and the family still needed him. For the moment, it was enough. 

Slowly, Humphrey's muscles relaxed more under the other alpha, and he fell asleep. 

* * *

**_Bloom Residence, London - Wednesday 11th November, late evening_**

It was a couple of hours before dawn that found Will wandering through the house, not sleepwalking, thankfully, merely awake after another bad dream, giving his room time to air out, as well as himself to distance himself from it. 

He liked this time of night, when the house was dark and quiet, knowing his family was resting in each of the rooms, untroubled, and not needing to worry about what might be asked of him as a result. It was times like these that the house truly felt more like his own, as if, come the night, it had changed from this too-bright dwelling into his own sort of haven, another world almost, when the rest of the family fell into slumber. 

Moving along the corridor, glass of water in hand, he trailed his other over the pieces of furniture as he passed. The narrow table that held one of Alana's flower arrangements, one chair, then the other that were placed to ease the time of those waiting for others to get ready to leave somewhere, the bannister, and then the wood panelling of a door, all of them got a trail of his scent left upon them from his fingers, as he reacquainted himself with the house. 

Pushing the door open, it made no noise as he stepped inside, and the darkness beyond it was deep. He knew the room though, each piece of furniture, each chair and table, and so it was with ease that he made his way to one of the huge windows, pushing back the curtains and, after setting his glass aside, unbarring one of them, folding back the shutters to look out into the garden beyond. 

All was stillness. The moon shone down on frost touched grass, and the small copse of trees at the end was a haven for the shadows of the evening. If he had been at the country estate, there might have been the cry of an owl, but tonight, here, nothing stirred. 

He stood there, looking out at the garden for a while, letting that stillness calm him. His nightmares were never about such stillness, such quiet. The feel of that altered reality lingered, its own haven. Looking out at those trees, they could be anywhere. He could be anywhere. 

How long he lingered there, he didn't know, but eventually he turned away from the view and made his way back through the room towards his own bed. His fingers trailed on the other side of the corridor this time, along the dado rail, the edge of one of the picture frames, and the side of a plinth that held a sculpture bought ten years ago. 

His steps halted, his breath stilling as the soft turn of a lock drew his attention. It wasn't loud, but he watched it turn, the handle following before the door slowly eased open. He didn't think he had been loud enough to wake anyone. It was not Humphrey who exited that door though, but Nathan. 

He must have made some sound, or perhaps his scent had caught the other man's attention, for his gaze turned, and, seeing who it was, his expression changed to one of overt, lazy satisfaction. Will took in the man's state, without even really realising he was doing so, each detail coming to him and building the picture that told the tale. The mussed up hair and the clothing lax with lazy donning. The scent of the oil and the two alpha's pleasure heavy on his skin despite the washing. It was the slight bruising on one side of Nathan's neck though, from fingers digging into his shoulder, not from behind, but having reached from below, that told it's own tale. 

Perhaps he looked like he was about to say something, for Nathan merely brought his finger up to his lips in a request for silence. Now, and in future most likely. 

Will stood there, watching as Nathan made his way down the corridor in quiet steps back to his own room, the silence continuing the haze of Will's home that he had not thought another could walk in and maintain. It almost felt like a gift that it had given him, this knowledge that he'd had no idea of before now. The soft scent of Humphrey's emotional hurt so very faint in the air, lingering only for a moment before it was gone again. 

Almost all his life he had lived here with them, and had no idea that they sought such closeness, even rare as it likely was to have been hidden so long. A reminder that there were hidden depths to everyone. A lesson there, perhaps. 

Making his way back to his own room, he let his fingers trail over Humphrey's door, unable to pass it without doing so. He supposed he was just as territorial in his own way of his family's comfort and security as the alphas were, though far less able to adequately see to it. 

His room, when he got there, was chilled by the opened window, the night air having taken away the worst remnants of his ill rest. Closing it once more, he lit the candle beside the bed and sat on the edge of it, knowing there would be little he could do for Humphrey, both of them caught in the dance of societal norms, of family, and of Alana's and Jack's wishes. 

It was reassuring though, that Humphrey had Nathan like that. It was almost as if he had been shown a problem as well as a reassurance over it. He could help, perhaps in his own way though. He knew the satisfaction Humphrey had got from their trip to Mr Brightly's shop. Perhaps he could stand to go another trip somewhere. Shopping perhaps? Usually he would avoid such things, but if he did go, then having Humphrey there would be a boon, one that would be noticeable to the alpha. Yes, perhaps he could do that. 

There was also, if he was honest, somewhere else he would like to go. It had been on his mind for weeks now, ever since the trip to see Humphrey's brother. He had thought, perhaps, to ask Beverly to go to a fortune teller with him, but had hesitated, knowing she would tease him over it most likely. 

Was there really a power behind some of the better reputed fortune tellers? As the years passed, he was far more willing to seek anything that might help resolve his situation. He would be lucky to end up with either of his suitors this year, but he had been through too many to be left with much, or any hope. 

Humphrey wouldn't mock him for trying. 

With this thought in mind, he put down some clean sheets from the cupboard, having already stripped the bed earlier, before laying back down to try and get some more sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so wow, it only took me 13 chapters and about 16 months, but you finally have some manner of smut in this story haha, and even then, that section really wasn't about the sex at all. I sort of worry sometimes that the general lack of smut will put people off the story, but a friend told me to just write the story I want to write, so here you have it. Not traditional in terms of stuff on AO3, but it's a scene that is one of the ones I am actually most proud of.
> 
> In other news, massive kudos goes to my beta-reader Anthony, who once again went above and beyond the call of duty to help me fix all my errors. He had a huge job this month, because yeah, I sort of skipped from past-tense into present tense half way through without realizing, and even after trying to fix it, I hadn't. He deserves major amounts of cookies for that.
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments if you can, they are the driving force of my motivation :)

**Author's Note:**

> As I have not written fanfiction before, some critical feedback would be useful. What did you like and not like about the story and why? Were there any glaring plot holes, or things not explained properly that disrupted the flow? What would you hope to see more of in future?
> 
> I will also put out here that I am looking for another beta reader who would be interested in helping me go over future chapters. If so, please leave a contact email address in the comments or send me a message on Facebook (link in profile)


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